Shadows of Tomorrow
by Elerrina Amanya
Summary: Part Seven: In which Legolas has imperfect hair, a bad temper and an excursion in a towel, just to show he can.
1. Beneath the Trees

_Shadows of Tomorrow _

_"Darkness crept back into the forests of the world...rumour grew of a Shadow in the East-and the Ring of Power perceived its time had now come."_

-Galadriel, _Prologue, The Fellowship of the Ring_

Part One: _Beneath the Trees_

_In a great cave some miles within the edge of Mirkwood there lived at this time their greatest king. _

The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien, p.162 

The sun had barely begun her course over Middle-earth, and no shafts of light yet slanted between the branches in Mirkwood, but already there was activity within the halls of Thranduil. Legolas, son of the King, had exited his chamber and was walking purposefully towards the dining-hall of his father when he paused, hearing the approaching sound of light feet on woven floor coverings.   
"Annúmír!" Legolas greeted the other Elf.   
"You will breakfast with me before we go to meet Thalion?"   
"Of course!" he replied with a smile, and the two continued on their way through the twisting, torch-lit passages. 

  
A few moments later they came to an arched doorway cut into the silvery stone and draped with soft, billowing fabric. Legolas pushed it aside and entered the room, Annúmír following silently.   
"Welcome, my sons," Legolas' mother said with a gentle smile that included both of them. Legolas inclined his head towards his father and kissed Eluial on the forehead, while Annúmír bowed before the King and Queen. It was a ritual that had been their custom for many centuries, but still Legolas sent Annúmír an exasperated glance. 

  
His friend had been considered a member of the family of the king ever since Annúmír's mother had been killed in a fall when Legolas had been but eight or ten summers, and Annúmír little more. Legolas, certainly, counted him as the only brother he had ever had, and it had been several years before he could understand why Annúmír could not entirely look on Thranduil and Eluial as his own parents. Even now, he considered his foster brother's deferential actions as both unnecessary and ridiculous, but Annúmír persisted. It was decades since the subject had been mentioned betweem them, but this morning Legolas felt unusually frustrated and it was only with difficulty that he refrained from commenting. 

  
"You are going further West into the Forest today, are you not?" Eluial asked with an interrogative glance at the two younger Elves, who had seated themselves in carven chairs at either side of the table.   
"Yes," Legolas replied, helping himself to fresh bread and fruit from the heaped platters and dishes on the table and pouring water from a jug into his silver cup. "We are going to meet Thalion and check upstream on both watersides as far as the Enchanted River."   
Thranduil looked keenly at his son, and Legolas once again had the feeling--disconcerting despite its familiarity--that his father could read his thoughts.   
"Is there aught amiss that you have not told me of?" Thranduil inquired amicably.   
"No..." Legolas answered slowly. "No, it is a routine patrol--I wish to ensure the spawn of Ungoliant have not spread any further north or east. I am concerned about the new colony some of Erwë's people spoke of, for they seem particularly vicious, and more intelligent than most, which makes it all the more worrying."   
The disgust and hatred was clear in his voice, for the Elves of Mirkwood detested nothing more than the spiders of the forest and hunted them without mercy, although of late the beasts had multiplied in such vast numbers that it was all the Elves could do to keep them from encroaching upon their homes. It was reason enough for a journey into the Forest, and Thranduil did not press further, nor did Legolas say any more, for his words had been truthful and there was naught else he could have told his father, save for conjecture and questions without answers. 

  
The previous evening he had walked some distance from the palace and, listening to the sounds of birdsong and the wind in the branches, had sensed a new presence among the darkness of the woods. The trees, too, murmured in confusion and the animals were disturbed by something unknown to them —— not a malignant power such as he had first recognised centuries ago in the South of the Forest, neither was it a strong force of virtue. It was simply...there, brushing the edges of his mind. The incident had been a minor one, for the inhabitants of the Forest changed daily and Legolas had decided not to report it to his father until there was more information to convey, especially since there seemed so threat to the Elves from the strangers. In any case, his desire to discover the source of the presence he had perceived was a motive secondary to the one he had declared to Thranduil. 

Eluial cast a perceptive glance at her son, but said only, "The first of the Firith feasts is tonight, remember, so please attempt to return before we set out."   
They promised to do so, and the meal now being concluded, Legolas and Annúmír bade farewell to Thranduil and Eluial and departed. Returning to their chambers, each Elf retrieved a cloak, a bow and a quiver full of arrows, customary weapons they were rarely without. As they walked along the hallways once more, Legolas adjusted the straps that secured his quiver to his back, and reassured himself his white-hafted knife was at his belt--it had saved his life on more than one occasion and stayed with him always. On their way to the entrance of the palace, they made a detour to the great vaulted kitchens and collected from Ornendur, the chief cook, a bag containing the meal of bread, dried meat and fruit he had prepared for them.   
At a word of command, the great gates of the King swung wide and the two walked swiftly through, the doors closing once more upon their heels. 

Thalion, the friend they intended to meet, dwelt some distance away in a flet near the top of a large beech tree and it took several minutes to travel the distance between their homes. As they approached the area where many of the Silvan Elves lived, each could feel the penetrating gaze of the guards who watched tirelessly over the Elven habitations. This was common practice--indeed, Legolas had been the one to order an increase in the sentries some time before, but still had to suppress a surge of anger that such precautions should be necessary. The tendency to evil might be an indelible part of Middle-earth, but millenia of strife, pain and ever-present Shadow had not yet managed to remove from the hearts of the Elves the knowledge that this was not how Ilúvatar had intended Arda to be.   
They had reached Thalion's tree but he himself was not visible. Annúmír looked at Legolas and inquired, "Shall I whistle, or do you want to climb up?"   
"Why does everyone always assume anything where climbing is involved must be my responsibility?" he mock-complained.   
Annúmír laughed, then whistled three soft notes that carried through the still air--a long, a short and a final long, low one that rippled gently among the leaves. The response was almost immediate: far up in the spreading branches an Elf could be glimpsed springing lightly down the tree and a moment later he landed with a muffled, hollow thud on the grassy ground. He was Thalion, less tall than was common among the Elves, but immensely strong, skilled in the hunt and fiercely loyal to his friends. His father, one of the following of Oropher, had taken to wife a maid of the Silvan folk and from his mother Thalion had inherited a wariness additional to that which all the Elves of Mirkwood had gained over the years. He was some years Legolas' junior, but they had known one another since childhood and he had served under Legolas ever since the latter had been given command of the North Guard. 

  
Thalion greeted his two friends with a smile and then asked, his expression unnaturally solemn but his eyes betraying him, "And how is Glînwë today?"   
Legolas and Annúmír exchanged glances and burst into laughter, Thalion soon breaking into mirth also. Composing himself, Legolas replied, "He is not long for this side of the Sea, or so he would have us believe...none of us are deceived by him, but he still enjoys the attentions Lothiel is bestowing upon him!"   
Thalion did not answer, but Annúmír added, "He has been telling her all kinds of tales, but none of them involve the fact it was his own fault he received those bruises!"   
Glînwë was a younger Elf whom the others had more or less seriously referred to as "Legolas' protégé" ever since he had taken charge of the Elf-child's training some thousand years before. By now, of course, Glînwë should have been a warrior in his own right, but his mischievous ways combined with Legolas' habit of never letting him out of his sight when on an assignment led to the appearance of a greater difference in age than actually existed between Glînwë and the other three.   
Some days earlier, Glînwë had proved--to Legolas, at least-- that the precaution was indeed necessary, and would be for the foreseeable future. 

  
_"He suddenly decided," _a disgusted Legolas had explained to Annúmír, _"to go off on an expedition alone, and then had not the sense even to keep his ears open...he ended up trampled by one of the white deer, of all things!"   
"They do move very quietly,"_ his friend had defended, while at the same time trying to control a suspicious twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

  
Legolas had not been appeased, but by the time several days had passed the worst of his anger at Glînwë's irresponsibility had passed and he was able to see the humour of the situation--except when Glînwë was present, of course. The young Elf had decided to make the most of his minor injurie, and allowed his adoring younger sister to wait on his every need, much to the amusement of the other Elves, for Lothiel was known as a skilled healer and it was only where her brother was concerned that she appeared incapable of recognising the real insignificance of the damage done. 

The three now set off, their feet barely making a sound on the fallen leaves littering the forest floor. On arriving at the river they moved along the Northern bank, eyes searching among the trees for anything out of place, ears alert to any sound. Perhaps an hour had passed when a light rain began to fall, dampening the hoods of their cloaks and making a gentle drumming as it dripped from the leaves onto the ground, while the River seemed alive with the sound of many splashing droplets. All else, however, was tranquil, almost eerily so, and even the birds seemed silenced. When they guessed--as well as they could with the sun obscured by clouds--that the time was approaching noon, they paused for a light meal. Thalion, ever more at home among the branches than on the ground, climbed several feet into a large oak while Annúmír settled himself on the grass at its foot and Legolas chose to seat himself on a fallen log some little distance away. 

  
Suddenly the stillness was broken by a distant echo. Legolas' head lifted automatically and he turned to where he thought he had heard the noise.   
"What is it?" Thalion asked sharply, noting the look of concentration on his friend's face.   
"I cannot be sure...it sounded to me like a voice, but..." His words trailed off, and the other two watched him intently until he spoke again.   
"No, I must have been mistaken. Perhaps it was some new bird or beast--they often venture up from the South now."   
He was not certain of what his ears had discerned, but at he fixed all his concentration on the nuances of the Forest, he became increasingly certain that something strange was at work beneath the trees. If the other two were not satisfied they said nothing, and a moment or two later Thalion dropped to the ground. Annúmír stood, ready to continue on their way.   
"Do you wish to go further upstream, or should we cross the River here?" Thalion queried, picking up his bow and tucking an apple core under the sprawling, twisted roots of the great tree.   
Legolas considered for a moment. Nothing untoward had happened so far and if the spiders had managed to cross the River they would hardly have moved any greater distance North than the three Elves had already covered. In all likelihood they had in fact spread over a larger area of the forest enclosed by the two rivers and the Elven-path, in which case there would be more profit in checking that region.   
"We will cross over now," he said finally. "If we find that they have indeed extended in large numbers close to the River, we shall have to return with more archers to attack them."   
"You do not think we could dispatch them ourselves?" Thalion asked.   
"I will not risk it...there have been too many deaths and near escapes. It may be only a few have travelled this far, and in that case we may be able to cope, but I do not wish to put your lives in danger--or my own."   
Annúmír smiled a little and remarked, "There is no point, then, in asking if we are going to assail the main settlement?"   
"Absolutely none whatsoever--while I know the increase of these foul creatures must be stopped, and urgently, it will take more than three to slaughter an entire colony, and you know it!"   
Thalion, beginning to uncoil a rope from about his chest, complained, "I can remember the days, Legolas, when you were the most willing of any of us to venture off in search of danger and excitement!"   
Abruptly motionless, Legolas stared at his friend for a long second before replying softly, "As do I...but I can also recall what came of some of those adventures, even if you cannot."   
Thalion accepted the rebuke, but added teasingly, "I still think that all the responsibilities have made you wise and grave before your time!"   
Legolas raised his eyebrows at his friend in surprise. "What has come over you? I realise that Glînwë is not with us, but it is not necessary for you to fill his role--one troublemaker is quite enough for me to deal with!"   
Thalion merely shook his head and changed the subject, perhaps not wishing to provoke Legolas further into what the others privately termed his "serious and impressive" mood. 

The rope having been knotted into a loop at one end, Thalion began looking for a likely protuberance on the opposite side of the river, around which he could catch the coil.   
"That stone," Annúmír suggested, pointing at a mass of jutting grey rock. The others followed his gaze, Legolas looking at the stone with a dubious expression while Thalion pronounced it suitable for the purpose required.   
"Providing there is some depth of rock beneath the soil and it is not just resting there, it should hold," Legolas agreed finally, although he still looked a little uneasy. In their youth he had been the victim of more than one accident resulting in the use of an improperly made bridge of this kind, and he had never fully trusted Thalion's skill since. The younger Elf stared at the rock for a moment, took aim and slung the rope across the water. It caught and he pulled it firm, wrenching hard to ensure that it would remain steady enough to bear the weight of an Elf. Thalion then walked back a few paces and twisted the free end of the rope about the trunk of a large pine tree, finishing with an elaborate knot before gesturing towards the slender bridge with an open palm.   
"Legolas?"   
With a sigh Legolas stepped forward, having discovered centuries earlier there was no purpose in attempting to avoid what Thalion saw as his duty. He placed one foot gently on the cord and finding it supported him, stepped lightly along it almost as easily as he would a path on the solid earth. Having gained the other side he sprang lightly up the bank and waited for the others to cross, strongly resisting the temptation to jerk the rope when Thalion was in mid-stream.   
Annúmír lifted the twisted rope from the rock and with an experienced flick of his wrist Thalion loosened the knot that had secured it about the tree on the far side.   
"The last time we checked the position of these beasts, they were some ten miles to the South-West," Legolas reminded the others.   
"If we move in that direction we should come across the first of them within two hours and then we will be able to see how close to the River and the path they have spread." 

Not nearly that space of time had elapsed, however, before Annúmír, who had been slightly ahead of the other two, stopped suddenly and raised a warning hand. Before them, each Elf was able to see the sticky threads that draped from branch to branch and, not fifty paces away, the form of a huge black spider, bloated and hideous; perched on a limb and apparently asleep. Legolas felt a wave of revulsion sweep over him, as he always did when encountering one of these creatures, for to someone who loved beauty, light and all fair things under the Sun and Moon, the sight of gorged, deformed body; twisted, jerking legs and malevolent clusters of eyes was particularly sickening.   
A swift glance around them showed there to be no other spiders visible in the immediate vicinity. For some reason, this one had left the security found in numbers, and the Elves would make sure its decision would be fatal. Without turning his head and with barely even a movement of his lips, Thalion breathed, "Shall I shoot?"   
From the position where his friend stood he had, Legolas realised, the clearest view of the monster, so he gave an almost imperceptible nod of assent. Silently Thalion raised the bow he had held loosely clasped in his hand and carefully withdrew a single crimson-feathered arrow from the quiver at his back. His strong fingers drew back the string, and with a musical "twang" the shaft flew from his hand, catching a leaf as it passed before embedding itself in the head of the spider. It twitched horribly and an enraged hiss escaped as it lumbered around to face the one who had dared cause such pain. Even as Thalion sent another arrow to extinguish the glare of one of the many eyes, the beast, mortally wounded, gave a final convulsive jerk and was still. The Elves looked at their fallen foe in disgust.   
"Curse them!" Thalion spat out suddenly. "Creatures of Belegurth! How dare they come within ten leagues of the dwellings of the Edhil!"   
His companions looked at him in surprise at this sudden outburst, for of late they had thought that his temper was becoming more controlled.   
"Thalion," Legolas said gently. "We all hate them, but shouting angry words will only bring more down upon us...and while it is better to show defiance in actions than in words, it is also preferable to be the party doing the ambushing, not one of those surrounded by enemies."   
The other nodded, looking eagerly at his friend and captain.   
"Then we are going to spring an attack on them?"   
Legolas shook his head reluctantly, for despite his prudent words, the child who had loved adventure was still alive somewhere deep inside him. "We will go on as we have begun… but cautiously. If there are more alone and unawares, these we can kill. Awake and in greater numbers...as I have said, that is a different matter."   
Thrice more as they walked on they came across great dark brutes, Annúmír killing two and Legolas the last.   
To the Elves who knew Mirkwood so well, there seemed an alertness in the trees that was unusual, but though Legolas knew it to be related to the foreign presence somewhere under the canopy of leaves, he said nothing to his companions when they commented upon it. 

  
All at once, a glade opened before them, the beauty of the trees and grass destroyed by the sticky trails that crossed and re-crossed, and by the many black forms that hung from branches, dozed, or scuttled among the trunks. Legolas, Annúmír and Thalion exchanged glances and retreated a little way into the forest to where they could speak without alerting the spiders to their presence.   
"How many did you reckon there to be?" Legolas murmured. "I made it fifty at the least."   
The others nodded agreement, looking to him for instruction.   
"We cannot hope to destroy them ourselves, so I believe the best course would be to attempt to circle the area and discover how far it extends so we are able to give an accurate report to my father and have sufficient knowledge to plan an effective attack. Since there are only three of us, we shall have to keep together."   
Their plan of action determined, they moved with a rapid efficiency born of years of practice. Weaving among the trees, they maintained a distance just sufficient to keep the spiders in sight, whilst not being observed themselves. The colony ranged over a region some three-quarters of a mile in diameter, with perhaps twice as many inhabitants as Legolas' first estimate. Thalion insisted on a second circuit, several hundred paces outside the first, to enable them to find and kill any isolated creatures and in this way some fifteen more were slain. 

  
Eventually, however, they had to accept they had done all that could be expected of three Elves against a hundred giant spiders, and as the Sun began to tip slowly towards the Western Sea they made their way to the Elven-path in order to return to the palace. As they stepped out onto the open trail, to their anger they saw some spider had ventured to stretch a length of cobweb across the path. Long ago, when the creatures first ventured North, the Elves had taught them to attempt to block the Elven-way meant death, but of late the creatures had once more begun to spin their webs across the path, and it was a regular task to keep it clear. Only an Elvish blade could harm those great rope-like strands, so Legolas drew his white knife, slicing down through the cords that sprang back from the keen edge.   
This done, they began to walk swiftly towards their homes, but after only a few steps Legolas stopped short. His keen ears had picked up once more a distant sound, but more than that, the awareness of the alien beings had returned with greater intensity. It was a presence he did not recognise-neither Elf, Man nor beast, yet at the same time he had a vague recollection of familiarity: the knowledge that would reveal to him precisely what it was that trod the path behind them seemed to lie on the edge of memory, if only he could grasp it.   
"Legolas?" Annúmír's expression full of concern for his friend, who had without warning drifted into a reverie. Legolas looked up sharply, and the memory was lost. He smiled briefly to reassure his companions, then set off along the path, recalling the words of Eluial that morning and knowing his father would be displeased if they remained absent any longer. The desire to turn in the opposite direction and search until he found whatever it was that caused such disturbances among the trees and within himself was resolutely ignored. 


	2. Something Draws Near

Something Draws Near 

_"A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near-I can feel it."_

-Legolas, _The Fellowship of the Ring _

"Annon en-gwaith nîn, edro ammen!"   
At the sound of the words, whispered soft in the gloom, the great arched gates swung silently open. A tall, lithe form, the deep green of his garments making him almost invisible, stepped forward and the doors clanged shut behind him.   
Walking swiftly through the passages, lit with glowing torchlight, he came at last to the delicately carved door of his own chamber. It opened at a touch, and he entered, surprised by the lighted lamps in the room.   
"Legolas!" He spun around, and found himself looking into the laughing face of Glînwë, who at the sight of Legolas' startled face cried out exultantly, "Ah! I have done it at last! How many years is it, Legolas, that I have attempted to startle you out of your composure?" Smiling a little, Legolas shook his head. "I could not tell you," he replied, unclasping the beryl that fastened his cloak on his shoulder and swinging the worn garment onto a settle.   
"But I thought you were desperately wounded," he added teasingly. "Up from your couch so soon?" Glînwë 's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Lothiel's craft must be more effective than we knew," he answered.   
"Or perhaps the thought of missing the feast spurred you into a miraculous recovery?" Legolas returned, raising one eyebrow.   
"Oh, enough of my concerns!" the other exclaimed. "What ails _you_, that you did not realise I was here? You must have been deeply sunk in thought indeed!"   
"Yes," Legolas said, his features resettling into the meditative expression they had been wearing when he entered.   
"Annúmír, Thalion and I were in the Forest today...something strange is there, something the birds do not recognise and the trees have forgotten. Where is my father?" 

Glînwë, whose mirth was not abated by his friend's ominous words, exclaimed, "Why, he is preparing for the feast! Everyone is...and I count it very generous of me to spend so much of my valuable time in searching for you!"   
Legolas sighed. "I do not feel like merry-making tonight," he confessed, "but I suppose that I should go."   
"Of course you should!" Glînwë looked aghast at the mere thought of Legolas remaining in the palace. "How could we have the Firith feastings without Legolas, prince of Mirkwood?"   
"In your case, very well, I should imagine," the older Elf replied dryly.   
"But _Legolas_!" Glînwë protested. "I cannot bear to let you sit here like a sulky Dwarf-you _must_ come!"   
"I shall consider it," he answered, but a corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and it was evident that his words were at least in part only in jest.   
"Oh, you shall come," Glînwë said airily, having convinced himself of the sheer impossibility of Legolas acting otherwise. "I know that you would not miss seeing the stars of Elbereth for any consideration!"   
"And could not I walk beneath the stars elsewhere? They shine out more brightly far from our fires and torches," Legolas teased. "Now be off with you! I must change my clothes if I am to go to the feast." Laughing, Glînwë quitted the room, returning a moment later to inquire if Annúmír was to be found in his chamber.   
"Yes, to the best of my knowledge: I stopped to speak with one of the guards so he should have returned before I did."   
The younger Elf nodded his thanks and the door slammed to behind him. Left alone, Legolas walked to the chest of silvery wood that stood in the corner of the room and opening it pulled out the first tunic that came to hand, along with a silver belt set with diamonds and emeralds. 

Glînwë could make one feel very ancient, he reflected, very ancient and responsible in comparison with his carefree self. Of course, on days when Legolas was less inclined to fill his mind with concerns and duties to be fulfilled, the other Elf's companionship was able to bring back an illusion of youth and the memory of days spent running free under the trees and across the plains: days when there was no Shadow, no threat of imminent war, none of the obligations that belonged to the son of the last Elven-king East of the Sea. One of these responsibilities, as he knew all too well, was to tell his father of any reports he received from the scouts of new dangers in the Forest. Though not openly hostile, Legolas believed that the time had come to refer the matter of the unknown creatures to Thranduil, and to consult with him on what was to be done. If the choice had truly been his, Legolas would have preferred to track them down and follow their progress, but he knew that the king, ever wary, might rather urge an open attack. 

Running a hand over his hair, he sighed. Although he was Captain of the Elven soldiers and had the authority to order his men as he liked, Thranduil was very much the King and kept a careful watch over all that his commanders directed.   
The discussion would have to wait until after the feast, however...the feast! Casting off his musings with a start, Legolas realised that he would have to make haste if he were not to be late. He poured water from a silver ewer and washed before hurriedly dressing himself in the tunic of mossy green and wrapping his cloak about his shoulders once more. 

As he walked swiftly towards the entrance hall, he could hear the sound of many voices lifted up in song-the festivities had already begun. The great gates were being flung open as he arrived and the palace beginning to empty: first the cooks and attendants carrying baskets and platters laden with delicacies, then the rest of the serving folk, the court of the king and finally Thranduil himself, a crown of burnished leaves upon his head and beside him his wife and sons: one of them still slightly tousled. The guards fell into step behind them, and the gates closed with an resonating clash. 

The procession wended its way some distance westward into the Forest, taking care not to follow paths that led too close to the haunts of the giant spiders, for their business tonight was enjoyment, not battle. Many of the Elves who lived among the trees round about joined with them, and the sound of their song echoed through the branches.   
After a time they came to the glade commonly used for feastings of this kind and for this reason known to the Elves as Dor Mereth, where fires were kindled and torches hung, and Galion the butler began to organise the cooking and serving of the feast. Some pulled forward rings of wood, sawn from fallen logs, while others helped to turn the great spits. Still more Elves were tuning instruments, and almost all were singing. 

Glînwë, who had, as Legolas had observed, made an amazing recovery considering the state of health in which he had claimed to be the previous evening, sat on a moss covered tree-trunk, playing upon a silver harp and singing to his own accompaniment. A number of the younger Elves sprang up and began to dance, weaving gracefully in and out, laughing and swaying and tossing their heads. Legolas and Anúmír sat a little way off, watching Glînwë in amusement. Glancing about in search of Thalion, Legolas was surprised to discover his friend standing at the very edge of the circle of fires, his head bent in earnest conversation with another: an Elf-maid by the shadow of her hair and gown. She shifted her position slightly, so that the light of one of the lanterns fell full on her face, illuminating her beautiful features with an ethereal glow.   
"Lothiel!" he exclaimed softly. Her smile was lit from within as well as without, and there was no mistaking the expression on her face. Hints, signs, chance phrases and half-caught glances suddenly pieced themselves together into a tapestry that showed the love between these two Elves. 

Thalion and Lothiel... It was a situation almost wholly new to Legolas, for although he was fast approaching the age at which his father had wed, the thought of marriage had never seriously occurred to him. Perhaps there was simply no maiden among those of Mirkwood whom he could come to love, but something else had always seemed to prevent him from taking a wife: some sense of foreboding, of a task to be accomplished, something to be done that could not be achieved if he was bound by love and responsibility for a family.   
He had somehow assumed, therefore, that his friends felt the same way and as centuries passed with no sign from the others, this supposition had seemed to hold true. Now, however, it seemed that Thalion was to desert their fellowship in favour of a closer bond. Legolas had known both Thalion and Lothiel as infants and it was sometimes difficult for him to remember that they were no longer children, and well past the age at which the Eldar of old had been accustomed to wed.   
He wondered suddenly if Glînwë knew of this situation, and what his opinion of it was-he guessed that although his friend would probably bemoan the loss of his sister's undivided love and attention, at least a part of his lamentings would be only in jest and that Glînwë would in fact be pleased by Lothiel's marriage to his friend. 

Legolas' reverie was interrupted suddenly by Glînwë himself, who was calling his name in increasingly impatient tones. With an understanding smile Annúmír propelled his foster-brother across the glade, where he discovered that his young friend had a wish to join the dance, but required someone else to take his place with the harp.   
"Come!" Glînwë cried, thrusting the instrument into Legolas' reluctant hands. "Let us see if your fingers are as skilled upon the harpstring as they are upon the bowstring!"   
Laughing, he stepped among the dancers, leaving Legolas to gaze ruefully at the harp. Awkwardly at first, then with increasing confidence as his old ability returned, he began to pluck at the fine strings, picking out the tune of an ancient song of the Nandor that had been sung beneath these trees ere the fall of Nargothrond or Gondolin or the tumults of the distant Western world. 

The music finally came to its end when Legolas' fingers grew weary of the monotonous motion and the dancers fell laughing upon the grass. Someone handed him a cup of wine and another offered a skewer filled with choice meats, delicately roasted and dipped in delicious sauces, upon which he fell to with a hunger born of a long day spent on the move and hours without food. Seating himself by Eluial he was greeted by Erdil, the Elf who had spoken to him of the movement of the spiders.   
"Ah, no talk of duty in times of mirth!" Glînwë cried, appearing suddenly behind them.   
"Very well, since we are commanded by so important a person it would seem that we must leave our discussion for the present," Legolas remarked to Erdil with a miscievous glint in his eye. The younger Elf was barely listening for he was already casting his glance about, seeking for some new source of amusement.   
"Look!" he exclaimed. "We cannot allow Annúmír to eat cakes all alone!" Catching the other two by the sleeve, he half dragged them across the grass to where Annúmír stood, a tray of pastries balancing on his fingertips.   
"Carefully!" he cried, as an impetuous movement from Glînwë almost sent it crashing to disaster. Hastily choosing a cake before the other consumed them all, Legolas became suddenly aware of the same feeling that had grasped at his consciousness throguhout the day. He gazed around the glade-musicians, feasters, his father and mother smiling from their woodland thrones-all seemed well, nothing out of the ordinary was visible, but all the same he knew that something was drawing near. Turning swiftly, therefore, he caught Annúmír by the shoulder.   
"Nad no ennas!" Legolas whispered, eyes flickering from side to side. His companion looked at him in concern, staring out among the trees in his turn.   
"What do you see?" he asked softly. 

Small shapes, creeping and stumbling among the trees. Thickset forms moving towards the glade, the noise of their approach almost entirely concealed by the laughter and song of many Elven voices. There was no time to answer Annúmír's question, however, for in that instant many of the patches of deeper shadow reached the edge of the clearing, revealing themselves to be short, bearded folk. Legolas' shout of warning was unnecessary: the lanterns were suddenly extinguished and Annúmír kicked at the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. At once the strangers were thrown into confusion, or so it appeared from their calls and curses as they blundered about in what must have seemed to them almost unpenetrable darkness, for clouds had drifted over the stars. 

The keener-eyed Elves, on the other hand, could still discern one another in the dimness- uncertainty was visible on many faces and Glînwë was staring around in blank astonishment. In the first moment of the commotion, a few moved as though to catch the intruders, but Thranduil sprang up from his seat with hands upraised.   
"Edhil!" he cried. "Na Haudh en Edra!"   
Immediately the feast was gathered up and they began to move swiftly through the trees to the place Thranduil had named. Legolas edged his way through the groups of Elves as they approached the hill and eventually he managed to catch sight of his father once more. He reached him within a moment and said hastily, "Father, I must speak with you." The king turned at the urgency in his son's voice and nodded.   
"Did you not see them? I know now what they are, for I recognised them from the days when we had dealings in Dale and sometimes would see the Naugrim." He took a breath and finished quietly. "Father, they are Dwarves." 

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed—I really appreciate it! Kelsey: yes, you are right, of course :) Thanks for your interest. I hope that the future scenes I have planned are convincing, but please tell me if they aren't! 


	3. Answers and Questions

Answers and Questions 

_The feast that they now saw was greater and more magnificent than before; and at the head of a long line of feasters sat a woodland king with a crown of leaves upon his golden hair...The elvish folk were passing bowls from hand to hand and across the fires, and some were harping and many were singing. _

The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien, _Flies and Spiders_

"Father, they are Dwarves!" Thranduil greeted his son's whispered avowal with an impassive gaze: only his grey eyes showed how busy was the mind behind them. After a moment he nodded slowly.   
"Yes, Legolas. This I know," he replied softly. The younger Elf looked up, startled. He knew that his father held no love for the Naugrim and wondered briefly why he had ordered their folk to leave so swiftly, without even stopping to question the intruders on their motives for entering the realm of the Elven-king. Seeming to divine his son's thoughts, Thranduil spoke again.   
"I want nothing to do with them, Legolas...I will not have the feast further disrupted by a group of pugnacious Dwarves. If we show that we care nothing for them or their actions, they may move on without disturbing us again. You know how hot-tempered some of the younger Elves can be, and I would not risk them falling into conflict with these wanderers: I know how violent and hardy in battle a Dwarf can be." 

Legolas nodded in agreement: an ancient feud, a sudden appearance that could easily be construed as an attack and swift tempers-to say nothing of large amounts of wine-could form a potentially deadly combination.   
"In addition to this," the king continued, "there is always the chance that their intentions were aggressive in nature. Although we saw but a few, that there are more among the trees is not outside the realm of possibility. We were caught unawares-" He broke off for an instant, glancing keenly at the other, as if he knew of Legolas' earlier suspicions. "-in feast-time, with children in our company."   
Legolas mused on his father's words. Years of having the care of a numerous people had taught the King a caution his father had never possessed and his son at times disregarded.   
"I do not believe their motive was to injure, merely to disrupt," he remarked thoughtfully. "We have not been pursued, and surely if such had been their purpose they would not have become discouraged so easily." 

As they spoke the first among the company of Elves had already arrived at the low mound and stood among the trees, some murmuring to one another in bewildered tones, their fair faces troubled and their every sense now alert, others already laughing once more.   
"All the same," Legolas added, looking around at their people, "I deem it would be wise to investigate farther." "Of course," Thranduil replied. "Set up a guard, and send out scouts. I shall have all those bearing weapons alerted. If anything more should happen this night, we shall be ready for them...but they shall think us foolishly careless." 

Legolas nodded respectfully before retreating into the press of curious and bemused Elves to find those he wished to accompany him. He had no need to seek out Annumír, for he was already tracing a convoluted route towards his foster brother. After a moment or two Legolas managed to identify Ornendil, Culedhel and Thôntir, three of the elite of the Guard; Thalion, meanwhile, had remained with Lothiel, and had a protective hand placed beneath her elbow. All had weapons concealed beneath their cloaks. Legolas caught Culedhel's eye for an instant, and inclined his head towards the path that led to the river. The gesture was enough: highly trained and devoted as he was, the Elf needed no further instruction but at once began to move in the direction his captain had indicated. 

Before Legolas could alert any of the others, a hand on his shoulder informed him that Annumír had reached him. "What is going on?" the other asked in an urgent whisper. "No-one seems to know anything, since the king ordered so hasty a removal, but there are rumours flying like wildfire...some of the children are in a strange terror, and Glînwë is insisting that he saw a Man shrunk to half his natural height-what is the truth of the matter?"   
Legolas answered his question with another. "Have you your dagger with you?" Receiving an affirmative nod, he caught his friend by the arm and advanced towards the place where he had last seen Ornendil. "Look out for Thôntir and Thalion," he added over his shoulder as they walked. "If you see either of them move away, try to keep them in sight so that we will be able to find them later." 

As they came near to the group of which Ornendil had been a part, however, the Elf turned and strode away, apparently not having seen Legolas or recognised his intentions. Anxious that they should not be delayed, Legolas called after him. Ornendil paused for a few seconds, long enough for the two who followed to catch him.   
"I need you to come with us into the Forest," Legolas said in a low voice. "Culedhel is already waiting by the river path...stay there until we come."   
"Very good," the other replied. Despite the obvious inquiries in his eyes, he asked no questions but immediately walked towards the edge of the glade with swift, purposeful strides.   
"There is Thôntir," Annúmír commented as they scanned the mingling Elves once more. Legolas hesitated for a second, then answered, "Ask him to go with you to where the others are...tell him that I sent you. I will find Thalion, and come to you all as soon as I can." 

They parted, and Legolas plunged into the throng once more, wishing-not for the first time-that Thalion was taller: in situations such as this it became difficult to see his friend when so many stood between them. Thranduil, however, unknowingly aided his son's task as he commanded the musicians to recommence playing and the feast to begin again. The Elves parted, some sitting down, others circling around the fire. Many still wondered what had just happened, but most were willing to enjoy themselves and defer their questioning until a later time, secure in the knowledge that the king would not have directed them to continue in their feasting if he had considered the disturbance to be a threat to their safety.   
Thalion was one of the few who still looked uneasy when Legolas located him at last, speaking seriously with Lothiel, who only laughed and asked him to join the dance.   
"My apologies for disturbing you," Legolas interrupted. "I must beg your forgiveness, Lothiel, for the necessity of postponing your dance...I need Thalion's help for a few moments." She smiled at him as she released Thalion's arm. "How could I not give it to you?" she teased. "Go on, then!" 

"What is wrong, Legolas?" Thalion queried as soon as they had parted from the woman.   
"Nothing, I hope," his friend replied, and would give no further answer to his questions, saying only that he would explain once they reached the others.   
Culedhel and Thôntir were waiting on the path while Ornendil and Annúmír leaned against trees, their eyes flickering around the bushes that surrounded them.   
"You all saw something of what happend," Legolas began, looking at each Elf in turn. They nodded, their faces impassive.   
"Perhaps you know then what it was that disturbed us in Dor Mereth: 'twas a company of Dwarves." 

At this revelation, Ornendil let out a sharp exclamation, while Culedhel and Thalion exchanged astonished glances and Annúmír nodded in sudden comprehension.   
"We do not know their numbers, for there may be more than those whom we saw. That is why the king wishes us to discover what we can about them: how many there are, where they have gone...I do not want you to attack them, however, for we do not know what their intentions may be. "Thôntir, choose a dozen or so other members of the Guard-older and more level-headed-and place them around the hill, but ensure that they are inconspicuous!" The dark Elf nodded sharply and melted away, correctly taking Legolas' words as a signal of dismissal.   
"The rest of you, follow me. We shall return to the glade, but spread out so that we may approach it from all angles. If you see any sign of Dwarves having passed-"   
"That should not be difficult to notice, anyway," Culedhel interjected dryly, and Legolas shared the general amusement at the expense of the noisy, clumsy creatures before finishing, "As I said, if you see anything, alert the rest of us as soon as you can." 

These Elves had collaborated on many occasions in the past, and now moved with the ease and familiarity born of long association. Creeping with swift stealth through the trees, back towards Dor Mereth, Legolas and the other listened with all the power of their keen ears for any sound of clumsy feet or gruff voices; stared into the darkness with sharp grey eyes that looked everywhere for the smallest sign of movement. Behind them, fires blazed up and the sounds of mirth began once more. They circled around the glade, but no boot or hood was visible in the pale starlight.   
Legolas raised one hand, indicating that the others should stay where they were, then slipped out into the open. The glade was deserted, but as he glanced towards the distant glow of the Elf-fires, he heard a sharp crack, as of a branch being snapped underfoot. Annúmír stepped out to join his brother and said in a low voice, "You see what they have done?"   
"Yes...while we encircled them, they slipped between us in order to reach the feast," Legolas answered.   
"Thalion!" he hissed. "Check the surrounding area for any who may have remained: Annúmír and I will be after them." 

The two ran lightly along the trail the Dwarves had taken, clearly visible even to those not trained in wood-craft, for one pair of heavy boots may wreak more havoc than a hundred soft-shod feet. They were too late, however, to prevent their quarries from achieving their goal and entering the ring, for as they watched, the light of the fires was extinguished and the confused shouts of the Dwarves began once more. 

Seeing that Thranduil was adhering to his previous policy Legolas halted, calling back to the others to leave the Dwarves and instead follow the rest of the Elves to wherever the king led them. Returning to the hill, Legolas watched as the dark silhouettes of short, broad forms stumbled through the darkness: there seemed to be perhaps a dozen, and certainly they did not appear to pose any kind of threat to a large company of Elves. As he turned back towards the others, a glimmer of torchlight revealed the position of the main gathering so they made their way through the trees to where the Elves milled around in even more confusion than on the previous occasion: it had transpired that those set on guard had been aware of the Dwarves' approach and so the fire had been quenched almost before they entered the glade, leading to great bewilderment among those Elves who had seen nothing. 

Leading his little group of scouts, Legolas made his way to where Thranduil and several of his courtiers stood at the centre of a large crowd, placating and reassuring. On seeing that his son had returned, however, he broke through the circle and strode a little distance away to where they could speak in relative peace-at least for as long as his councillors could keep the people from following.   
"What did you discover?" Thranduil asked, watching Legolas with eyes that could read the hearts of Men.   
"Very little, I am afraid," the other replied. "By the time we discovered them, they were almost upon you. I did not let them know of our presence, but observed them for a little time...I am convinced that there are no more than disturbed you, in the immediate vicinity anyway. What they are doing, wandering in the Forest, I cannot imagine, but I do not think we need concern ourselves overmuch." 

Satisfied for the moment, Thranduil again ordered the renewal of the music and food was passed among the Elves. The king seated himself and the majority of his people followed suit, dropping to the ground in long lines to feast and laugh and sing loud, clear songs of mirth. Annúmír, however, seemed unable to relax: he paced from fire to fire, staring into the trees, picking up a cup and casting it away without drinking. Legolas watched, wondering what his friend knew or felt that he did not, until eventually Annúmír joined him by the largest of the fires and stood for some minutes without speaking. The flames reflected in his eyes, warming the grey with a softly flickering copper sheen. 

"Why, Legolas?" he asked at last, his gaze never leaving the crackling wood. He could have made a pretence of incomprehension, but Legolas knew exactly what Annúmír was asking.   
"I do not know," he replied, the concern returning to his expression. "Years pass without any news of a Dwarf, let alone sight of one, and now..."   
"This little band comes tramping heedlessly into our realm," Annúmír finished. "What could possibly draw them this far from their homes? They are not like us, they have no love of wandering for its own sake, nothing draws them..."   
"Nothing save a desire to augment their wealth," Legolas corrected with an ironic half-smile.   
"But what could they hope to find here? I doubt greatly whether a Dwarf could learn to appreciate rowan berries as rubies, or droplets of dew in place of beads of mithril...yet these are the only treasures they are likely to discover in the Forest, for so small a band could never hope to assail the halls of your father in search of jewels." 

Even as he nodded agreement to Annúmír's words, Legolas chanced to glance up again into the trees, and as soon as he did so, he froze. Directly opposite to him, standing between two mighty beech-trunks, was a tiny figure-not a Dwarf, surely, for no beard was visible and the features were too fine, yet seemingly to old to be a child of Men. His surprised observation lasted only a long-drawn instant, however, before time began to move again and with a shout a blue-clad Dwarf stepped into their midst. 

For the third time that night the torches and fires were doused, but on this occasion Thranduil's patience was ended. The middle hours of the night were waning and the stars fading, so with a word the king decreed that the feast was over. With barely a murmur the Elves swiftly gathered their belongings and melted into the shadows. Lingering a little behind the others as they made their way home, Legolas heard the wood echo once more with the unmusical voices of the Dwarves. The words they shouted seemed nonsense to him: harsh and ugly and meaningless were they. Out of the jumbled, frantic calls, however, one rose up that seemed familiar to his ears. That it was a name he could of course have guessed, but it was one that he knew: the name of Thorin Oakenshield. 

A/N   
Celeb, thanks for the review. I'm glad that you liked it!   
Sorry this took so long in coming...I've just started my AS exams, which isn't conducive to writing! As well as that, the Muse has been tricksy recently—first of all she demanded I write a story about a completely different character, then when I persuaded her to return to Legolas she wandered back into his childhood, and when I finally reined her into this story, she abandoned the beginning and headed off to write a completely unplanned chapter from near the end! Well, I suppose that means a quicker update somewhere along the line :) 


	4. Enemies of Old

Enemies of Old 

_Long and searchingly he questioned the Dwarves about their doings... _

-The Hobbit 

Arriving back at the palace as the first rosy hue tinted the clouds on the horizon, the Elves passed across the bridge and through the great doors, some hurrying, others dallying in talkative groups.   
Legolas strode through the gates and down the hallways until he reached his chamber, still disarrayed as he had left it. The lamp had burned itself out, while his tunic and the basin of long-cold water remained on the floor. Deciding to dispense with the trouble of summoning a servant, he lifted the basin and carried it to the bathing chamber at the end of the passage, where he poured the water into a large ceramic channel and listened as it gurgled away to pass through a complicated system of filters before seeping into the soil near the river.   
He then refilled the bowl with fresh, warm water that flowed down from a large cistern above and returned to the warmth of his own room. The palace's system of (usually) hot water was a development of the one used in Menegroth but the engineering had also benefited from a number of royal visits to Imladris.   
_"What would Master Elrond say,"_ Annúmír had teased, _"if the Prince of the Greenwood were discovered investigating his plumbing?" "He knows me from of old,"_ Legolas had retorted, calmly continuing his explorations.   
Removing the finely embroidered robes- now soiled with dust, soot and clinging leaves-he washed and redressed himself, gathering up the discarded clothing to be taken to the laundry room. 

When Legolas came upon him, Galion was wandering in the general direction of the kitchens, smiling to himself. He carried a glazed earthenware flagon, such as were used to carry the plentiful but inferior wines commonly drunk by the king's soldiers and servants. Legolas raised a dubious eyebrow at sight of the butler, for Galion's love of wine was notorious among the rest of the Elves, particularly the Sindar, who often had great difficulty in understanding some of the ways and weaknesses of their Nandorin comrades.   
"Know you the whereabouts of my father, Galion?" he called. When he had once recognised whom it was that addressed him, the butler, who was evidently in a merry mood, made a commendable-if not entirely successful-attempt to appear in complete control of himself.   
"The king retired to his own chambers, my lord...I believe, however, that he is to meet with his chief councillors in the Hall within the hour." So saying, Galion bowed with a flourish that would have ended in disaster had he not possessed the natural poise and balance of an Elf, even while under the influence of susbstantial volumes of wine. He then continued on his way, leaving Legolas to gaze ruefully after him. 

Forty minutes later he stood outside the Hall, gazing at the delicate carving on the great panelled doors. Many centuries had passed since they had been shaped but Legolas could still remember watching the craftsman at work, how the finely shaped tools had gouged into the smooth surface of the wood, guided by the skilled and confident hands of the Elf; the sound of the blades sweeping long shavings and whittling tiny shapes; the smell of the fresh chips that had fallen to the floor...   
The large design had been sketched and carved first, but afterwards many days had been spent adding tiny details, memorials to the carpenter's ingenuity and imagination, and also serving as reminders of events that had taken place as he worked. The etching of a woodland bird resting on the shoulder of an Elf commemorated the rescuing of the creature one morning during the crafting of the door. Legolas could still remember it: how he had set her wing and she had afterwards flown just behind his head, to the great amusement of Annúmír and the rest of the younger Elves. 

As he stood smiling at the memory, the sound of many hurrying feet could be heard behind him, accompanied by the impatient tones of his father. Turning, he saw the king approach, annoyance written in the lines of his face and even the crisp movement of his robe as it whipped about his legs. As the little procession arrived, a torch-bearing servant sprang forward to open the doors and Thranduil passed through, followed by an assortment of courtiers, advisers, captains and one son.   
Striding through the pillars of soft-grey stone that stood like lines of sentinels along the length of the hall, the king came to his carven throne and sat down to face the assembled Elves who stood before him. 

"What then would you have me do, Cúcaran?" Thranduil demanded. Evidently his words were the continuation of a conversation that had been progressing for some time and not, apparently, very amicably. Legolas watched his father and the other Elf with keen interest, for the mother of Cúcaran had been a maid of the Noldor, and some among his Silvan companions teased that his temper was worthy even of the Fëanorians: oft-times did heated debates break out between he and those possessed of differing opinions to his own. 

"With all respect, lord, they are Dwarves!" he cried now. "The ancient enemy of our people-they cannot be allowed to trespass freely in our lands!"   
"But they have done us no harm...perhaps they wish no ill towards us, and 'twould be folly to bring the anger of the Naugrim upon ourselves without need," interposed another Elf, formerly the Guardian of the Southern Marches.   
"You would speak of diplomacy, Lossedhel, until you felt the blade of an axe in your back!" Cúcaran retorted sharply. Lossedhel's eyes glinted dangerously at the implied insult, for he was as skilled a warrior as the other, but he restrained himself. 

Turning once more to the king, Cúcaran continued tersely, "Do not allow them to leave your realm alive!"   
Galendil the Wise, who of old dwelt in Beleriand and who had aided three generations of the family of the king, shook his head. "Nay, my son: we cannot allow past bitternesses to affect our judgement in matters of the present. The world is much changed...the old alliances are ended, therefore perhaps it would be prudent to end the old feuds also." 

Thranduil, who had watched the exchange between his courtiers with eyes that saw much, now raised one hand.   
"You are silent, Legolas," he remarked. "What say you to this, my son?" Stepping through the others, who parted before him, Legolas approached the seat of the king.   
"There is reason behind each argument," he began. "That so small a company should be slain, however, goes against all that my heart and conscience bid."   
There was an impatient sound from behind him, and Legolas smiled briefly despite the gravity of the situation, for he knew without turning that Cúcaran was the perpetrator.   
"And yet," he continued, his brow now furrowed with concern and his voice dropping as he considered the matter, "Yet it is ever unwise to allow anyone, Man or Dwarf, to wander our realm unchallenged, without declaring their purpose..." 

The remembered name of Thorin still troubled him, for the fame of the Kings under the Mountain had spread far, and to the Elves the Fall of Dale was but a little time past. If indeed it was one of Dúrin's line who walked the Forest, unforeseen difficulties could arise whatever the course taken. 

"There are yet Dwarves dwelling in the Emyn Engrin, are there not?" he inquired suddenly, glancing up at his father, who nodded affirmation.   
"The capture of this party might bring the wrath of their Eastern kindred down upon us, were they to hear of it," he mused, "yet conversely, if we permit them to wander unchecked we may only be giving them time to send for aid to attack us, if such is their design..." 

"You speak truly, lord!" Cúcaran interjected eagerly. "Allow me to take a group of warriors into the Forest to hunt them down!"   
"No!" Legolas exclaimed. "Nay, slaughter is not in my mind, for I do not believe their design to be such...but I would counsel you, my father, to have the Dwarves brought before you and questioned as to their intent." There was a murmur of approbation from the king's advisors, and Thranduil too smiled at his son.   
"You speak as I myself have thought," he answered. "Take a-" 

What his command would have been the Elves were not to discover, for at that moment the carven doors swung inward, and Thalion strode through.   
"My lords," he greeted them, bowing with deference toward Thranduil and his son. "I must seek your pardon for interrupting you thus, but a matter has been brought to my attention that I considered to be of sufficient import to merit disturbing you." He inclined his head and at the motion a second Elf appeared in the entrance. Astonished gasps and cries broke from the lips of many in the Hall and even Legolas stared wide-eyed, for Thalion's companion bore in his strong arms the stout form of a Dwarf: boots, beard, tasselled hood and all. 

"Bring him before me," Thranduil commanded, "and explain to me your actions, Thalion." The two Elves complied, and the Dwarf was laid on the floor before the chair so that all could see that he was insensible and had been bound with many thongs.   
"Early this morning I returned to my own house," Thalion commenced. "I had not been there many hours, however, when Ringil and a number of the other Elves who dwell deeper in the Forest came to our village in great agitation, speaking of a creature they had found lying in one of the glades in which we are accustomed to feast. I accompanied them to the place of which they spoke, and found more of their company moving towards the palace, dragging the Dwarf you behold before you. I told them that I would take charge of him, for I knew not what they might do, and brought him here as you see." 

Having finished his speech Thalion retreated a little, looking to the king for approval or censure. Thranduil seemed deep in thought for some moments, then smiled at Thalion and the Elf who had borne the Dwarf.   
"You have acted rightly," he told them. "Unbind him and then go on your way, but speak as little of this matter as you are able."   
The two acted as instructed, then bowing they retreated, unspoken curiosity lingering in their eyes. 

"He shall wake soon," Thranduil told the assembled Elves, who gazed at the Dwarf with open interest and in some cases animosity. "Then we shall discover what we may, since the opportunity has been given us whether we willed it or no."   
The king's words were proven to be correct, for within ten minutes of Thalion's arrival the short figure began to move, the eyes opened, and the Dwarf sat up, staring about him in shock and hostility. He shouted some words in a gruff voice, but whether they were in his own tongue, or merely a corrupted form of the Westron, the Elves could not understand them. 

Thranduil, however, watched him with keen eyes and then began to question him.   
"Who are you? By what name are you known?" he asked, but received only silence in reply. The Elves stirred in anger at this insolence, but Legolas wondered...here was a being who considered himself to have the right to defy the Elven-king himself, and while Dwarves were known to be obstinate, audacious creatures at all times, of old most had been to a certain extent intimidated by the power, wisdom and strong will of his father. Perhaps there was a deeper reason behind his refusal to identify himself than mere truculence. 

"From whence do you come? What is your purpose? For what reason have you journeyed so far?"   
"I am starving," the Dwarf answered at last after many such questions, bringing a smile to the faces of many of the Elves.   
"But what brings you here?" Thranduil persisted. "Why leave your supplies of food in a distant place, only to wander in the Forest? What did you hope to find?" 

The circling questions continued for many moments, and to Legolas, standing behind his father's chair, they passed with increasing disquiet. Thranduil, however, was not dismayed by the Dwarf's perversity and continued with the same inscrutable expression, but after an hour Legolas could see that even his father was beginning to lose his patience. 

"Why did you and your folk three times try to attack my people at their merrymaking?" he inquired, hoping to provoke some kind of direct response.   
"We did not attack them," the Dwarf contradicted. "We came to beg, because we were starving."   
"A likely tale," Cúcaran muttered to himself, staring at their prisoner with eyes that could have melted gold.   
"Where are your friends now, and what are they doing?" Thranduil returned swiftly.   
"I don't know, but I expect starving in the forest," the other answered, evidently determined to say nothing more.   
"What were you doing in the forest?"   
"Looking for food and drink, because we were starving." Again the Elves smiled at his evident preoccupation, for some among them recalled the greedy habits of the Dwarves of Moria and the Mountain, who each ate, as Thalion once dryly remarked, enough to keep the entire Elf-kingdom in provision for a month.   
"But what brought you into the forest at all?" Thranduil asked in exasperation. This question had ever been a sticking-point, and as always the Dwarf fell silent and refused to speak, however they pressed him. 

"Very well!" Thranduil said finally. "Take him away and keep him safe, until he feels inclined to tell the truth, even if he waits a hundred years." There was a smile in his voice now, if not on his lips, for the expression upon the face of the Dwarf as the king spoke would have incited to humour even the most disgruntled merchant of Esgaroth.   
A chamberlain left the room and returned with a servant and a number of guards, who again bound the Dwarf tightly, though not so as to cause pain, and removed him to be taken to the cells. His noisy protests could be heard echoing through the halls for many moments after they left. Legolas caught the servant by the arm and quietly instructed him to see that the prisoner was well fed, for it was likely that he spoke the truth when he said that he was starving: only the Elves had skill and wisdom enough to find food within the borders of the Forest. 

The afternoon was already passing by the time the questioning of the Dwarf was over, and the Council dispersed for the mid-day repast. Legolas and his father walked to their chambers together, and in the dining-hall they encountered his mother, who hurried to them with a concerned expression upon her beautiful face.   
"What has chanced, beloved?" she questioned Thranduil. "The palace is overrun with rumours and tales, but it is impossible to discern the truth, for Thalion has left again, and he seems the only person save yourselves to know what is happening!"   
The king smiled. "If those rumours speak of the capture of a Dwarf, they are indeed true," he replied, seating himself before the table. Eluial exclaimed in surprise and followed suit.   
"I could not believe it...a Dwarf! We have not seen one of their race for a long count of mortal years. Only one, you say?"   
"Yes, but there are more yet remaining in the Forest. I shall have them brought here also, in order to discover whether they are any more forthcoming with information than their companion," he finished, with a mischievous glance at Legolas. The younger Elf returned the smile absently, then asked abruptly, "Father, did you recognise the Dwarf?"   
The king's face grew pensive. "No, to say that I did so would be false, for all Dwarves seem alike unless one is familiar with them, and this face I cannot recall in particular." 

Legolas nodded slowly before speaking his mind. "Understand, I have little basis for such an assumption...but I believe our prisoner to be one of the Children of Dúrin, a descendent of those who ruled in Erebor. Do you recall the name of Thorin?"   
"Yes," Thranduil replied. "'Tis an old name, oft heard among the noble of the Dwarves, and borne by...the grandson of Thrór, last King under the Mountain."   
As he finished searching his mind for the required information, the import of his words seemed to strike him, and he looked up sharply.   
"You think this to be Thorin Thráinion?"   
"I do," Legolas answered simply. "And if he be so, what shall you do?" 

Thranduil's face grew stern, then whimsical. "Unless he choose to tell to me his name, I shall treat him in a manner no different to that which I would have done had he been the anonymous Dwarf whom I thought him to be. What else can I do?"   
The corner of Legolas' lips curved upward, and for a moment the likeness between father and son was so strong as to be astonishing. 

"Do you wish me to take some of my company to find the rest of the Dwarves?" he next asked.   
"Yes-I should not trust Cúcaran with the task, whatever he might say!"   
Eluial looked distressed. "He hates the Dwarves, it is true, Thranduil, but he has suffered much...how can you say whether, given the same pain and provocation, you would not also have the same anger?"   
"We have all suffered, Eluial," Thranduil answered, and in his eyes Legolas saw the old sorrow as he remembered it from his childhood. "If all the world answered loss with vengeance, this Middle-earth would be empty: we cannot allow the story of my mother's people to be repeated."   
"Kinslaying is a crime most grievous indeed," his wife returned, "but the Dwarves-"   
"Are children of the Valar, and the people of Dúrin are enemies of the One Enemy...they are not _yrch_," Thranduil finished.   
Legolas listened to the debate in surprise, for always his mother was a gently restraining influence, while Thranduil, though wiser in his day than Oropher before him, yet held little love for the Naugrim. The world was indeed changing... 

Later that evening, as the stars far above were being kindled, Legolas took up bow and quiver and summoned a small group of warriors to accompany him on his mission to recover the remaining Dwarves. Carrying unlit torches they followed him back into the Forest, which seemed strangely silent as they parted company to scour the undergrowth. Glancing about him with eyes that pierced the darkness, Legolas sensed a changing in the mood of Mirkwood that he could not believe came entirely from the presence of the Dwarves: it was something different altogether.   
Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm, and spun around to find himself face to face with Annúmír, whose features showed mingled surprise and distaste.   
"Here is a strange thing, Legolas," he whispered. "When we slew the spiders yesterday, none came so far from their colony, surely?"   
"No," his friend breathed. "What is it, what have you seen?" In reply Annúmír indicated a point some yards away, where the shadowy form of a great beast could be seen lying in a pool of its own dark blood. Legolas' eyebrows raised as he examined the body with disgust.   
"It would seem that we are not the only beings to hate the spiders-look! It was no animal killed this brute, for the wounds have been made with a blade, and a fine one..."   
"Perhaps we underestimate our Dwarven guests," Annúmír suggested with a teasing smile.   
"Their discernment of weaponry must have improved, if that be so, for no axe ever shaped could deal such an injury...I should like to see the sword that did." 

Leaving the corpse, they turned to discover that most of their companions had surrounded a small glade, in which small forms could be seen struggling onwards, with many a breathless grumble and curse. The Dwarves had evidently seen and heard nothing of the approach of the Elves, who silently closed in upon them and on hearing Legolas' almost imperceptible "Now!" uncovered their torches and sprang forward.   
"Halt!" Legolas cried, his clear voice echoing about them. The Dwarves seemed only too willing to comply with the order, and collapsed to the ground. Something, however, still moved, just out of Legolas' line of vision. He turned to catch it, but the figure was gone...he stepped forward to investigate, but at that moment Culedhel called to him that the prisoners had been bound and counted, and the chance was lost.   
"Blindfold them, and come swiftly, but guide their feet so that they do not stumble," he commanded briefly, then led the strange little procession back towards the palace, affording a smile now and then as he glanced over his shoulder at the Dwarves, who knew not where they were being led and presented a somewhat ridiculous appearance as they staggered along, bemoaning their fate as they went. 

The Elves who remained to guard them, in contrast, sang as they walked, for the capture of the Dwarves pleased them mightily. Across the bridge and through the gates they marched without hesitation, then through the twisting halls of the palace to where Thranduil sat, awaiting them. He praised Legolas and his companions for their work, then looked long at the Dwarves.   
"Have them unbound," he told Annúmír, "for they are weary and ill. Besides," he added, "they need no ropes in here."   
Many questions he asked them, always about their doings and purpose, but little would they say in answer, and their words were discourteous and angry.   
"What have we done, O king?" one of the Dwarves suddenly exclaimed in his harsh voice. "Is it a crime to be lost in the forest, to be hungry and thirsty, to be trapped by spiders? Are the spiders your tame beasts or your pets, if killing them makes you angry?"   
Legolas and Annúmír looked at one another as soon as he said this, and Annúmír smiled triumphantly, but Legolas remained bemused, for he could have sworn it was a thrust from an Elven blade that killed the beast they had found.   
Thranduil, whose hatred for the spiders ran deep, retorted, "It is a crime to wander in my realm without leave. Do you forget that you were in my kingdom, using the road that my people made? Did you not three times pursue and trouble my people in the forest and rouse the spiders with your riot and clamour? After all the disturbance you have made I have a right to know what brings you here, and if you will not tell me now, I will keep you all in prison until you have learned sense and manners!" 

Legolas had to suppress a smile as his father spoke, for both the words and the exasperated tone his father used reminded him strongly of a scene he had witnessed long ago in Dale, as a mother chided her little boy for his wilful behaviour. 

"Randil!" the king called to one of the guards. "Have the Dwarves taken to the lower levels and incarcerated in separate chambers, and feed them."   
Then, in a lower voice that the Dwarves could not hear, he added, "Tell them nothing of the whereabouts of their companion. If any become willing to speak, inform me at once...but I doubt that shall be, for they are as obstinate as ever were their Western kindred!" he finished in vexation. 

Watching his father with now-troubled eyes, Legolas wondered again what the true purpose of the Dwarves had been...it was within the borders of possibility that they were simply visiting their kin in the East, and ignorant of its dangers had chosen Mirkwood as the shortest route, but if that was the case, why not tell the king so? 

As the captives were led away, Legolas took his leave of his father and also departed the Hall, carrying a brightly-burning torch. Passing through the door, the light seemed to fall on a dim patch on the floor before him, but there was nothing nearby from which a shadow could be cast and when he looked again, it was gone. He returned to his chamber, but a sense of strange unease haunted him, and remained in his heart for many days.

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A/N: I have read several wonderful stories in which the authors chose to make the enmity between the Elves and Dwarves a very personal issue for Thranduil and Legolas. While I have no problem with this interpretation, for the purposes of this particular story, I chose to take into consideration a number of factors, including Tolkien's description of Thranduil as "a wise Elf," and the possibility that the animosity felt by many of his race toward the Dwarves, while certainly present, was perhaps somewhat less strong in the heart of the king than in those of his people or the Elves of Lórien. Please tell me if you find this interpretation realistic :) 

LOTRFaith—I'm glad that you are enjoying the story :) As a big Elf-fan, those few weeks in _The Hobbit_ that are skimmed over so quickly have always intrigued me, and since Tolkien doesn't seem to have said much more on the topic, I figured that I would have to do it myself! By the way, would you once have belonged to the _Angels and Elves_ role-playing group? The name sounds familiar :) 

Celeb & Tin—yeah! You are still hanging in there ;) I am now in throes of Big Evil Exams TM, but hopefully this will keep you going until part five appears...oh, sometime in the summer!


	5. H

Hîn in Ungol 

_The giant spiders were the only living thing that they had no mercy upon. _

-The Hobbit 

In the North of the world Summer was now hastening to its end. The fresh green hues had been lost from the beeches in Northern Mirkwood, and as the West winds swept across Rhovanion bearing the chill of the snows that fell on the Hithaeglir, the burnished leaves were caught and carried far away. Beneath the branches, the Elves of Thranduil prepared for winter, gathering great store of food from the lands East and South, for the passes of the mountains were treacherous in the colder months, and few ventured to cross them unless necessity demanded it. Most disregarded the incident of the Dwarves, but Legolas could not forget them. 

On the second morning after the feast, he took a small company of archers back into the Forest. Slipping through the trees they came upon many of the spiders slain by Legolas, Annúmír and Thalion on their last expedition, but nothing stirred. The cannabalistic nature of the beasts was notorious among Elves and Men: when food was scarce they would devour their mates and offspring without thought, so the absence of feasting monsters surprised and disturbed the Elves. 

"What can this mean?" Ornendil asked Annúmír in a soft voice, but the other merely shook his head, then murmured in Legolas' ear, "Surely our valiant little friends could not have destroyed the entire colony?"   
"I only wish I could believe it, although indebted to a Dwarf is not a condition in which I would generally wish to place myself!" he returned wryly. 

Creeping stealthily through the trees they came nigh to the place that had been identified as the borders of the main settlement, but before they arrived there Legolas raised his hand, signalling for the others to halt. The dark unease that filled him when creatures of Sauron were near had once more fallen on his heart, and by listening carefully he could discern an unhappy bubbling noise: the sound of a spider in pain. 

"Annúmír, take four and go to the left; Thalion lead another four to the right," he commanded quietly. "Go no closer than we did two days ago, and only shoot if you are threatened. I want you to attempt to discover how many are still alive-and what in Arda they are doing! Culedhel, come with me; the rest of you form a longer perimeter about the area and remain on guard. I wish to see everyone returned here before the sixth quarter."   
He did not need to check whether they had understood his instruction: with silent nods of comprehension they slipped away into the shadows, almost before he had finished speaking. 

The prince and his companion, however, would take another route. An oak tree, with branches spread wide like welcoming arms, grew close beside them and with barely a glance upward Legolas sprang up it, moving from limb to limb in swift, lithe movements; Culedhel followed a few boughs behind. In their wake a few leaves quivered, but these trees knew and loved the Elves, and seemed to sympathise with their present desire for secrecy: no creak of complaining branch betrayed their presence.   
The trees spoke with gentle voices of their own, however, and though Legolas was moving with too great a speed to hear all that they said he knew that they whispered of their pleasure at the slaughter of the spiders, of the gladness that filled them at the knowledge that the creatures who poisoned their water and bound their limbs together with sticky, clinging ropes were fewer than they had been. 

Moments slipped by and Legolas was now passing through the branches of less welcoming trees, trees who muttered words of foreboding and malice. It was in such places the spiders invariably chose to make their dwellings-though naturally they could not hear the speech of the forest, they somehow sensed the moods that provoked it and treated groves of singing beech and oak with a hatred born of fear. At night they would wander far afield, polluting the fair trees with their presence, but in daylight hours they retreated to their lairs in the darkest areas of the Greenwood, places made even blacker by their vile inhabitants. 

Grey eyes narrowed as Legolas surveyed the scene before him. A great pine was before him, standing proudly but with several broken limbs jutting out as a grim testament to the violence that had occurred there. A thick strand of translucent spider cord drifted lazily in the wind, seemingly innocuous but potentially deadly: Legolas had witnessed similar situations too frequently to be unwary. Venture into the radius of that rope and it would strike with apparent intelligence of its own, and that as venomous as its creator's sting. Brushing the victim lightly at first, a touch only intended to annoy, the cord would swiftly become entangled about the struggling body, for the harder the prisoner strove to escape, the more securely he was trapped in the sticky coils. No, he would not risk passing too closely to that silken trap. 

Culedhel was now ahead of him, and Legolas sprang swiftly across to a neighbouring larch. Now that they were approaching the heart of the colony, it would be unwise to stray too far from one another, especially while the rest of the company were still making the more circuitous route on the ground. Even as that thought passed through his mind, almost instinctively through many centuries of such expeditions, Legolas heard the unmistakable hiss of a spider, and it was clearly a spider with a grievance. In an instant an arrow was on the string, and he gazed about him into the shadows that lay beneath the canopy. Some yards away, Culedhel was doing likewise and it was he who first sighted the creature, but his captain's hands were the quicker. A faint twang, a momentary noise like a sharp breath of air and the arrow found its target with a familiar, nauseating squelch. The spider had no time to voice its anguish, for it was dead before it hit the ground. The Elves heard the hollow sound as its flabby body bounced on the pine needles and exchanged glances from their different trees. 

Signalling for Culedhel to remain where he was, Legolas swung lightly through the branches to land on the forest floor and strode across to their fallen prey. Forcing detachment, he examined the body. Although his companion would be constantly vigilant, he too remained alert to the sounds of Greenwood as his gaze travelled over the stinking carcass: not one of Thranduil's people remained alive through careless folly. Having seen the other dead spider Annúmír had discovered the previous night, Legolas was not as surprised as he would otherwise have been to discover that the wound about which the beast had been complaining was a deep, narrow gash that had pierced the many folds of tough skin and seemed to have been inflicted by a fine blade of exceeding sharpness.   
Another quarry of the nameless warrior who walks the Forest, Legolas thought lightly, but the import of the words struck him suddenly and filled him with disquiet: there was a strange swordsman wandering his father's realm, and no-one had any clue as to his identity, where he could be found, or whether he was friend or foe. It was not a pleasant thought to entertain, particularly when the security of their people was the responsibility of his family. 

Slinging his bow over his shoulder once again, Legolas placed a slim hand on the bough of a nearby pine and swung himself upward in one smooth, athletic motion before resuming his elevated progression through the forest, Culedhel still some trees ahead. They were moving more or less directly towards the centre of the settlement of the spiders, but there were surprisingly few at large in the surrounding area. The children of Ungoliant were prone to familial disagreements and there were almost always a few exiles lurking in the vicinity but today they seemed to be on their guard, gathered close to their home and seeking security in numbers. 

It was perhaps this uncommon peacefulness that lay over the Eryn Galen that lulled the younger Elf into a false sense of security, but whatever the reason he was moving far too quickly. Legolas could not understand it: Culedhel was a trained warrior in the service of Thranduil who had been personally chosen to be a part of numerous missions before this one and until now he had never even come close to failure. Today, however...there was a lack of caution in his movement that betrayed a certain preoccupation-perhaps even carelessness, although that was not a word used lightly when describing an Elven guard.   
He cannot be listening attentively enough, Legolas thought in concern, and it was true, for the dark-haired Elf was springing from tree to tree with increasing speed and it was impossible that he should be paying sufficient attention to the whispers of the forest around him. Already he was a hundred yards ahead of his companion, a distance far too great to be risked when in an area of such danger as this, and one that was steadily growing longer. 

Soft notes rippled suddenly through the conifers, a sound that would have appeared to any stranger to be the call of a woodland _merilin_, but this particular birdsong was recognisable to some as coming from Legolas' lips. Culedhel was one of those who knew the signal and he half-turned, glancing over his shoulder to see what the problem was. Unfortunately for all concerned, he did not cease moving but instead continued to swing from branch to branch, a bemused frown spreading across his features as Legolas gestured for him to slow down. Suddenly the gestures became much more frantic, and the pursuing Elf even hissed out a warning-but too late. 

The elaborately woven web stretched between two trees and was the height of three men. It had evidently been there for some time, judging by the level of success with which it had already trapped its intended prey, but this did not make it any less effective on this particular occasion. Culedhel did not sense it until there was no time to save himself and he stuck fast, the sticky cords binding to his hair and clothes.   
_"I rhach ned i Belain na bo ti a i lhing!" _the trapped Elf muttered angrily, knowing that he could not afford to move if he did not wish himself to become inextricable from his stringy prison. Legolas cursed and quickened his pace through the trees, only to stop abruptly. Freeing his friend should have been a simple matter enough, for spiders' webs were little cause for fear provided that at least one person who was present remained both free and armed with a blade. It should have been a moment's work for one who had experienced such things before, had they been left alone. 

Alone, however, was precisely what they were not. Shocked, alarmed and angry that in their distraction they had allowed themselves to be thus surprised, Legolas observed silently as a great, bloated spider floated down from the perch on the branch above from where it had kept close watch on its trap. He was unsure whether the creature was aware of his presence-it seemed too much to expect that it was not-but whether or no, it had effectively prevented him from shooting it where he stood by the simple expedient of lowering itself to Culedhel's level and remaining behind him, on the far side of the web to that from which the Elves had approached. 

Not daring to make a sound lest he draw the attention of the already wary spider to himself, Legolas crept along the branch and slipped up the bole of the next tree. It was excruciatingly slow progress considering that his friend was at the beast's mercy, but he could not afford to drop to the ground: one of the first lessons for survival in the place Men called Mirkwood was never to allow oneself to get below a spider if it was at all avoidable. From above, he would be able to shoot with accuracy into the vitals of the predator without risking the safety of the prey. Culedhel, meanwhile, was showing that he was still very much alive by persisting in squirming as the spider wound him in silk, vociferating curses all the while but retaining sufficient presence of mind not to call out for aid from his companion. 

_Elbereth Gilthoniel,_ Legolas thought, fearful for his friend but not daring to speak the prayer aloud. Attempting to escape was a natural impulse, but if once the spider tired of the Elf's struggles a quick jab of poison would end them: temporarily or permanently, depending what whim governed the beast.   
_No na sîdh, Culedhel!_ Legolas willed his companion to hear the words, but the younger Elf either sensed them not or disregarded them, for at that point his free arm, which he had been flailing wildly in the air, landed a particularly well-placed blow just below one of the spider's eyes. With a creaking scream of anger the beast jerked forward in attack, piercing Culedhel's skin near his shoulder. The warrior gave a choking gasp, then became suddenly, ominously still and Legolas could have sworn that if it was possible for them to show such emotion, the spider retreated with a smugly satisfied air. Now deeply concerned for the other Elf's well-being, he had to force himself to remain detached, focused and cautious. Though nigh thirty centuries had passed, he had not forgotten the words Galendil had spoken as he trained the king's young son into one who could captain Men and Elves. 

"Lasto na nin, ernil muin nín,"_ the instructor said, looking into the face of the youth before him. "You will see battle, and more insidious methods of warfare, but this you must always remember: if you recklessly put yourself into danger on behalf of a wounded comrade and are yourself slain, whom will you have helped?"   
Legolas lifted his chin in proud defiance to gaze into his mentor's eyes. "At least I will have died honourably, in the defence of a comrade!"   
Galendil shook his head, a faint, sad smile on his lips. "Those who say you are like Thranduil speak truth, but it is another whom I see in you...thus spoke Galadur in Doriath," he said, sighing.   
A startled expression sprang into Legolas' eyes at the mention of his great-grandfather, for few now lived who remembered him.   
"And thus he died," the older Elf concluded sharply. The point was not lost on Legolas, but he persisted in his argument.   
"Would you have me live, a coward too careful of his own blood to save that of his friend?" he retorted hotly, spitting out the words with disdain. "Do you tell me this only because I am my father's heir?"   
Catching hold of the boy's shoulder, Galendil shook him lightly. "No! I tell this to all those whom I teach. How long do you think the Eryn Galen will last if all her armies are killed? Who will fight for her children if every warrior adopted your policy? Better that one live than none!"_

"Best of all if two survive," Legolas had promptly replied, but despite his stubborn heart the warning remained in his mind. He had not always heeded it, but on each occasion that he had run the gauntlet of orkish arrows or ventured too close to Guldur in search of a missing patrol Galendil's reproachful face had appeared once more before his eyes. It did so now, as he caught hold of a slim, smooth limb and swung his body towards the next tree. Not that there was at the moment any real danger to himself, for even were the spider to see him now, he would be able to kill it before it had him in range: in the treetops he could move as swiftly as any spider. It was Culedhel's life that hung in the balance-if indeed he was still alive-for spiders had an advanced knowledge of the use of hostages and if all else failed, they would vindictively do almost anything to ensure that their prisoners died before themselves. 

Now, however...Legolas was almost directly above the web, standing a couple of branches higher than the uppermost strands to ensure that he did not himself become entangled. He could see Culedhel's pale face sitting incongruously on a mass of spider silk, dwarfed by the bulk of his captor. Reaching over his shoulder, Legolas drew out a long arrow and placed it on the string before raising the bow and gazing down the length of the shaft to take aim. The Elven weapon was silent, but a second later something alerted the spider to its danger and it looked around frantically, gurgling in anger and fear. Perhaps it turned its gaze upward; perhaps for the briefest fraction of time it saw the slim, green-clad form that easily remained upright, despite the gentle swaying of the branch on which it stood. Perhaps it recognised the shape held in his hands and perhaps it knew, just for a second, that the creature above it was going to bring about its death. 

Legolas neither knew nor cared. The instant the sharp head buried itself in the many-faceted eye he had slung his bow over his shoulder and was dropping through the foliage, not even waiting for the sound of the spider hitting the ground and the satisfying silence that followed. Despite his haste, he took care to avoid the sticky support strands that held up the web. Stretching as far as he could from the branch on which he lay, he reached out to touch Culedhel's cheek, murmuring entreaties to the Valar as he did so. The skin was cool and clammy, covered by a film of sweat...he moved his hand lower, brushing the throat with his fingertips. After a moment he sighed in relief, for weak and erratic though it was, there could be no doubt that a pulse still beat there.   
Raising himself for a moment, Legolas drew a deep breath. A second later the call of the _merilin_ rang out clear and strong across the forest, but there were words in this song, signals that were understood by all of Legolas' followers. 

Bending once more to the unconscious Elf, Legolas whispered reassuringly. "It will be well, Culedhel: I have told the others where we are and that you are injured. Soon they will be here to help us...for now I am going to begin releasing you."   
Drawing his white knife from its sheath at his waist, he began to carefully cut away the threads that held his friend captive, liberating his arms but leaving enough strong cords to hold the Elf suspended until aid arrived in the form of more Elves who could catch the limp body when Legolas had freed it. 

"I hate this stuff," he muttered in disgust, flicking some of the sticky mess away from his fingers before moving to slice through the silk that bound Culedhel's legs together. As he did so, he became suddenly still, then turned slowly to look behind him with cold dread in his heart. 

It was at this point that Legolas discovered that the predatory spider had not been on a solitary excursion. From the gloom of the trees above, a cluster of eyes shone menacingly. 

Translations

_Hîn in Ungol _— Children of the Spider   
_merilin_ — nightingale   
_I rhach ned i Belain na bo ti a i lhing_ — The curse of the Valar be on them and the web   
_No na sîdh_ — Be at peace, keep still   
_Lasto na nin, ernil muin nín_ — Listen to me, my dear prince. 

Author's notes & review response...

The story from now on goes into a period of time about which we know very little, namely the month or so between the feast in the forest and the day on which Bilbo and the Dwarves escape. In otherwords, I'm making it up :) Hopefully it will remain within canon, however. I'm aware that there is an increasing number of own-characters in the story, so I'm thinking about adding a character list to the beginning...think that would help? 

Celeb & Tin, if you are still around, thanks for the review :) I did warn you, but I'm sorry it took so long! I've been really busy recently, and haven't had a chance to do much fanfiction, either reading or writing :( The next chapter is well on its way, though, so it shouldn't be as long in appearing. 


	6. Dagor Nuin Yrn

Disclaimer: All the recognisable things (hmm, in this chapter I think that amounts to Legolas, Thranduil, Elmo and Mirkwood) belong to Tolkien. The rest of the characters (except for the spiders, whom I wouldn't take if you paid me!) the gaping plot-holes and the awkward syntax are mine.

_Dagor Nuin Yrn _

_Far and wide her lesser broods...spread from glen to glen...to Dol Guldur and the fastnesses of Mirkwood_

Of Shelob, _The Lord of the Rings,_ J.R.R. Tolkien 

_It had not been a particularly good week, all things considered. A few days previously, the detested Elves had come, killing many of his community: it was one thing when he wanted to get rid of them, but a completely different one when it was the Shining Ones who murdered them. As if that had not been bad enough, the invisible Sting had insulted them, robbed them of a rare meal of Dwarf, then slain many more of their kindred. Now, an Elf had ventured into their territory...he did not know what the purpose of the dark-haired one was, but his mate would see to it that it was not achieved. He knew better than to interfere with her when she was hunting, so hung back, observing. The Elf was caught, struggling in the web—but what was that?  
A few hundred yards away another Elf perched in a tree, unaware of how a glint of sunlight caught in his hair, making him visible to the lurking spider, though not to his mate. _

Like every spider he had been taught to hate the Shining Ones, with their sharp weapons and eyes that burned like stars, ever since he had lived with his brood of brothers and sisters further South in the Forest, and like every spider it was his ambition to catch one for himself. The dark ones were the most common, a good prize but not extraordinary since there were so many of them dwelling in their huts and houses of stone. Elves with silvery moon-hair were far more rare, and few indeed were the chances given to the spiders to trap one. But this one...though his clothes were no finer than those of his companion, the long hair that blew gently in the breeze gleamed golden like the Sun. The spiders detested her even more than they did the Moon, but that did not lower the value of this Elf: no-one had ever caught a gold-haired one. There was even a rumour that only the King of the Elves and his son were gifted with this particular trait...even if that were untrue, there could be no doubt that the capture of this Elf would prove him as a mighty hunter. His mate could have her prey, but he alone would bring back those plaits of gilded hair, a trophy like no other! 

In his excitement and anticipation, however, he did not realise that the mind of the Shining One was also occupied with slaughter. Within a moment of the spider's first sighting him, the free Elf had moved to a position above the web, and had loosed an arrow into his mate. She fell silently, hitting the ground and lying still with her limbs sprawled around her. Anger filled the spider, for although he cared little for her she had been his mate, and her death could not go unavenged. He rose up on his long legs, body bristling and eyes fixed on the murderer, who now bent in an attempt to free his companion. It would not succeed. Both of them would be his, one for himself and one for the memory of his mate. 

Carefully!_ It was said that the Elves could hear even better than a spider, and he could not risk alerting the golden-haired one to his presence or he too would feel the bite of one of those deadly arrows. Remaining in the shadows, a distance just far enough that the Elf would not see him in the gloom, he waited. He waited until the limp form of the dark one was almost released, waited until the golden one was lulled into a sense of security, unaware and heedless of the danger that lurked behind him—he would never know what bit him. It was a pity, really: the spider liked to feel power over his victims, enjoyed watching the fear creep into their eyes, revelled in the thought that they recognised him, knew that he would be the one to end their life.  
He then sprang forward, joints creaking ever so slightly as he moved to within a few yards of the Shining One. But the Elf knew...just before he readied to leap and sting the creature into submission, the slim body turned, revealing a pale face framed by that golden hair._

There was no time for Legolas to curse his lack of care, no time even to draw his bow. Almost before he was aware of it, the spider was gathering itself, bounding across the gap that separated them to the broad branch on which he stood. The knife in his hand would be the Elf's only weapon, then, and he must use it well. As the beast bore down upon him he swung his arm, driving the knife into the nearest leg and cleaving off a claw. The spider shuddered and lurched, but to Legolas' surprise no howl of pain and rage rent the air, for it was as reluctant as its opponent to draw the attention of the other spiders to this prize: the battle would be between two alone. 

Legolas crouched, tense as steel, taut as a bowstring, alert to the spider's every movement. Once more it charged forward, but this time he was more prepared and as it attempted to grab him in its pincers he raised his arm behind and above his head, then thrust it forward, burying the point of the knife in one of the eyes that glinted so maliciously. A flood of dark blood welled up and poured down his arm, splashing his head and face and soaking his sleeve. The spider drew back, trying to shield the vulnerable eyes from the hot, piercing blade. Its vision was now seriously impaired and agony was exploding in its head, but anger and the desire for revenge drove it on. 

Thinking swiftly and moving instinctively, Legolas stood straight, facing the spider as it approached for a third time, limping badly and peering wildly from its remaining, stained eyes. It was a mad decision he made in that split-second, the move one that his old tutors would have condemned with stern reprimands and warnings of the certain fate of one who was so foolish, but he had little choice, for the enraged spider would not again allow him near its eyes. For what seemed an age he remained still, a figure of defiance before the nightmare bulk of his bleeding foe.  
_There is naught else I can do...if this fails-_  
Just when it appeared that he must be borne down and overcome, he dropped suddenly to the branch, rolling between the spider's feet as it staggered forward. It was put off balance by the sudden disappearance of the Elf, but one cruelly curved claw managed to trample him as he rose, crushing the flesh, bruising his side and taking his breath.  
_I will not have this chance again, Legolas thought desperately. It is a mistake to use the same trick twice._  
Ignoring the pain that shot through him as he spun around, he lifted the knife for a mighty blow-_please, let it be a young one_-and drove the Elven blade through layers of tough, leathery skin. Terrible convulsions passed through the body as the spider screamed in anguish. Unable to keep its balance, it fell from the bough and dropped like a stone, unable even to curl its legs about it in the customary gesture of self-defence. It hit the ground heavily and twitched horribly for a few seconds before becoming still. 

Too wary now to accept this apparent death, Legolas picked up his bow and sent one last arrow flying through the air to find its home behind the spider's eye. The movement of drawing the bow, however, sent a white-hot dart of pain through his chest and he doubled over, dropping the bow and blackened knife from fingers suddenly too weak to hold them.  
_Broken rib, if I am lucky,_ Legolas thought with grim irony. _What more do you expect? _he then chided himself. _The Valar were guarding you today, you fool—such idiocy deserved no such good fortune._

Dragging himself along the branch, he glanced down at Culedhel, but the other Elf had remained unconscious throughout the entire battle, as indeed he had expected. Spider venom could easily render the victim insensible for an hour at least. There was little Legolas could now do, save wait for the rest of his patrol, but the inactivity vexed him greatly. He shifted position impatiently, supporting his aching ribs with the uninjured arm, and stared into the Forest: the two more or less defenceless Elves were now completely reliant upon the speed of their friends bringing rescue before the noise of the battle brought down more predators, and it was an uncomfortable position in which to be. 

"We must hope that the rest are still cowering in their lair, for I would be but a poor protection now, Culedhel," he said softly. _Only do not let them have brought an angry brood down upon themselves!_  
His fears were unfounded, however, for within a moment a light step upon the turf heralded the arrival of Annúmír with his four companions. At once Ornendil pointed to the unreceptive body of the trapped Elf, but there was confusion written on his face, for the large branch effectively concealed Legolas' form from those who stood below.  
"Legolas?" his foster brother called quietly. "Are you here, _gwador nín_?" 

Struggling to sit up, Legolas forced his muscles to obey his will and peered over the edge of the limb, but his "Yes" emerged as a gasp of pain.  
"Captain!" Thôntir exclaimed, horrified to see the state into which their lord had managed to get himself. A second later Annúmír had sprung lightly up the tree and was bending over him, pulling open the fastenings of Legolas' tunic and examining the wound with compassionate eyes.  
"Ornendil!" he said sharply. "Hand me up a bandage so that I can put his arm in a sling, will you? Oh, and do not fear, Thôntir," he added. "The blood is not Legolas'."  
Legolas glanced down at himself and with a grimace added breathlessly, "Well, _most_ of it is not, anyway!" There was a hint of wry humour in his tone and as the younger Elf hurried to comply with the request Annúmír turned back to his patient with the concern in his face considerably eased.  
"I see that you have quite a tale to tell us, my friend," he commented dryly. "As well as fracturing the rib, the skin is broken...not a serious wound, but I shall salve it-if you can manage it, it would be helpful also to hold a covering over it. I cannot bandage it because of the broken bone, but it will be dressed properly when once we get back to the palace." 

Pale-faced, Legolas nodded, but his grateful smile was somewhat strained as his friend gently lifted his arm and tied the sling. Thôntir stood below ready to help the injured Elf to the grass, while Eradan had climbed swiftly up the neighbouring tree from which the web had been strung and was engaged in slicing through the remaining bonds prior to lowering the still comatose Culedhel into Thorondur's waiting arms.  
Ornendil, meanwhile, was now examining the spider corpses with disgust and appeared to be reconstructing in his mind the events that had led to their deaths. 

With Annúmír's aid Legolas managed to walk to the treetrunk and climbed down; his movements were awkward since he had the use of only one hand. Thôntir supported him as he reached the ground and breathed deeply, recovering from the exertion.  
"Where are the rest?" he asked faintly, but Annúmír shook his head sternly.  
"All questions, reports and explanations will wait until after you have seen the healers, Legolas Thranduilion!"  
Legolas raised a questioning eyebrow. "Is that an order, my lord Annúmír?" he asked teasingly.  
"It certainly is...as I am currently your physician, I have a right to command you-and believe me, I shall take full advantage of the opportunity!"  
"You know what a bad patient I make," Legolas retorted, but his friend only smiled, before turning to the others. 

"These two ought to be brought to the palace as swiftly as possible, and since there are five of us-no, Legolas, you are _injured_, and for the moment do not count-I think we can manage without aid from the other patrols."  
"If they were close enough to hear Captain Legolas' signals to us they shall be concerned, and we cannot simply neglect to return, or they shall be even more worried," Eradan pointed out from his position on the dirty branch, glancing between the injured prince and his foster brother.  
"True," Annúmír agreed thoughtfully, "but the place where we separated is not far from here and the time assigned for our reunion is approaching: some at least should be within earshot if we signal again and tell them that all is well and that they should make their own way back to the palace."  
"It seems we have been speaking a different dialect for all these years, after all," Legolas complained. "If this is your definition of "well" I do not think much of it!" 

Annúmír, who knew the younger Elf better than almost anyone in Middle-earth, did not honour this comment with an acknowledgement and began instead to whistle between his fingers, a complicated series of notes that conveyed more information than anyone but a Wood-elf would have thought possible. This completed, he turned back to his patrol and issued succinct orders.  
"Thorondur and Eradan can remain in charge of Culedhel, while I look after Legolas, and Ornendil and Thôntir go before and behind us-but tidy this place before we leave."  
The four other Elves nodded and moved to do as Annúmír instructed, while Legolas' complaints were resolutely ignored.  
"I have only broken my rib, not my head!" he exclaimed. "I am perfectly capable of dealing with my own men...for unnecessary fussing, you are as bad as Elladan Elrondion, I swear it, Annúmír!"  
Far from becoming irritated, however, Annúmír seemed more complimented than insulted by the comment.  
"If I was half the healer each of the sons of Elrond is, I would be well pleased," he said gravely. Legolas' face took on a particularly exasperated expression but he accepted his friend's decree without further remark. 

"Do you wish us to craft a pair-" Thorondur began, but catching sight of the dangerous glint that flared in his captain's eyes he swiftly amended the words that Legolas had anticipated and said instead, "-that is, a litter for Culedhel?"  
Legolas and Annúmír exchanged glances but it was the younger Elf who answered, "No, I do not believe that will be necessary. He is slight of build: the two of you can share the task of carrying him, which should allow us to return home with greater ease and speed. Besides," he added, limping over to inspect the unconscious Elf once more, "he may wake at any moment. The spider was neither large nor old and the venom should have run its course in a short time."  
Nodding, Thorondur caught up Culedhel in his arms, settled him comfortably and strode out of the glade after Thôntir, who carried his bow and walked with the light step and ever-roving gaze of a scout by blood as well as training. Annúmír followed with Legolas reluctantly leaning on his arm, while Eradan and Ornendil, having set the bodies alight and finished their inspection of the site and retrieval of Legolas' arrows, brought up the rear, weapons in hand. 

The return journey was for the most part carried out in silence, for although Culedhel stirred when passed between the two Elves, he had not yet fully awoken by the time they reached the palace. Annúmír, meanwhile, scolded Legolas into quiet if the injured Elf as much as appeared to be preparing to speak.  
"Conserve your energy for walking, nor talking, gwador nín," he said with stern affection. "I know that it pains you when you attempt to talk and there is nothing so urgent that it cannot wait to be discussed until after we have seen Doronil."  
After receiving this chastisement for the fourth time Legolas, who indeed had little desire to speak of the near-fatal disaster into which his part of the mission had deteriorated, did not attempt further speech, even when the sound of a distant skylark informed them that the rest of the company had been safely reunited and were about to begin their journey back to the palace. 

Despite the pain in his chest, the even more bitter one in his heart and the awareness that an ill advised movement could drive the broken bone into his lung and suffocate him, Legolas was enjoying this necessarily slow walk through the forest. Of late years such times were rare and although he spent many of his days beneath the trees he was unable to truly appreciate it: the forest had become a place of concealed dangers, attack and resistance, warning and violence and there was little time to absorb her wonder and beauty. 

_But all the same, this is home,_ he thought contentedly. It was, in every sense of the word: he had been born here; had spent his childhood exploring the secrets of the ancient forest; had grown up knowing and loving the changing seasons of the woodland; had grieved at the Shadow that covered her and fought against it with all the strength he possessed; had spilled his blood in her defence. He was captain of these people, the son of the only kings the Silvan Elves had known. This place was steeped in his history, for long before, his forefathers had passed through the great forests on their journey East and legend whispered that in a glade not far from the palace his grandson constructed two Ages later, Galadur son of Elmo had been brought into the world. 

The trees of this realm knew Legolas, had spoken to him and granted to him their love and allegiance when he was nothing more than a toddling child. Before his lips could form the words of Elves or Men, he had listened to the song of the trees, the theme of the Song of Arda devised by Yavanna. Then, it had seemed perfectly natural, Legolas reflected, something to be taken for granted. For him it still was thus, but as he grew older he had come to a knowledge that it was not so for all Men or even Elves, as he had supposed in his youthful naivety. 

_"You are a child of this forest, little Legolas. They recognised us, your grandfather and myself, as Elves of the woods and those charged with the guardianship of this place...we were born in Doriath, however, part of the great forests of long ago but alien to these trees. You are their own, Legolas—you belong to this place and it to you in a way that I can only remember, for my forest fell long ago._

His father's words had been accepted without second thought, for Legolas had already known the truth of them: he knew that this was where he belonged. _"When I leave home,"_ he had once told Annúmír after returning from one of his early visits to Imladris, _"I am torn apart, I am not complete until I return. If I ever had to leave this place forever, if it was lost to me, I think so great a part of me would die that I could not survive."_

He had never yet been forced to test the truth of his prediction, but certainly he was never more alive than when he allowed himself to merge with the music of the trees, to become a Woof Elf in the fullest sense of the term. He did so now, letting his heartbeat slow to the measured rhythm of the world about him, his senses perfectly attuned to everything that passed in Greenwood yet at the same time no more aware of them than he was of himself...they_ were_ himself. 

_A stream is nearby, rushing down over the rocks and sparkling in the afternoon light that slants down in great shafts through the gap in the trees. Over the years the water has washed away the soil and now the roots of tall trees are exposed, like twisting branches at the base of the trunk to correspond with those above. The sound of the water forms the melody to the accompaniment of the wind in the leaves, which are illuminated and glow as the golden sun passes through the green pigments. The sound of footfalls is hollow, echoing on the layers of roots and pine needles that form the forest floor. There are ripening berries in the undergrowth, crimson fruits that shine with a lustre rivalling rubies. Woodpigeons are calling to their mates, their soft voices rising above the other sounds of the forest. A white fawn gazes at the Elves with limpid dark eyes that show no fear of them or the bows they bear. All the time the trees are murmuring to one another, whispering rumours of change and bemoaning the injury of one of their own._

"Captain Legolas!"  
After having been so long immersed in the gently soothing Music of the trees, even Thôntir's soft, lilting accents were unexpectedly loud and Legolas glanced sharply towards his companion before wincing as a sudden spasm of pain shot through his chest, reminding him of the injury he had sustained.  
"I am sorry, my lord," the soldier apologised, "but we are almost at the bridge-do you wish to go directly to the healers' quarters?"  
"What Legolas wishes is of little matter," Annúmír said briskly before his friend could reply. "He is going, along with Culedhel: you may report to the king and tell him where his son may be found."  
"If I were a few centuries younger I would throw something at you," Legolas commented, apparently to the leafy canopy.  
"As it is, I suspect that I may shortly have as much reason to regret your injury as you presently do: you have not changed, Legolas, only grown more subtle," the other returned with a knowing, rueful grin. 

As they approached the river concealed guards in the branches above called down concerned questions, desiring to know what had befallen the son of the king.  
"I am well, _mellyn nín_," Legolas invariably answered, summoning a reassuring smile and directing it towards the general area form which the disembodied voice had come, at which soft blessings and expressions of sympathy drifted down. 

Before they reached the bridge several young _ellyn_ who served in the palace came forth to meet them, carrying garbled tales of messages, commands and dying princes in addition to a pair of litters.  
"But you see I am still very much alive, Lalvendor Nenturion," Legolas explained patiently to one particularly excitable youth. "Whatever Celon the doorward claims that Thalion told him must be a great exaggeration-and I do _not_ need to be carried!" he finished, becoming considerably more exasperated as the eager young Elves encouraged him to lie down. "Put Culedhel on one, if it will satisfy you, and take him to Doronil as swiftly as you can."  
"And tell him that Legolas Aryon shall be soon with him, needing treatment for broken bones, among other things," Annúmír called after them as they retreated the way they had come, this time weighed down by Culedhel's prostrate form.  
"It really is very irresponsible of you, independent nature notwithstanding: walking miles with a broken rib, persisting in giving orders—I would have forced you to the stretcher, had I not known it to be more than my life is worth to do so!" he continued quietly in Legolas' ear.  
"Ah, I am wounded and in pain; let me at least preserve a little dignity," Legolas pleaded teasingly as they arrived at the palace amid the distressed greetings of the doorkeepers. Annúmír pacified them before answering, "Dignity is all you shall have, _tarlanc'u_, for at least a week," the older Elf replied grimly. "Dignity, court robes, and all the administrative work you have been avoiding for months, for I shall personally ensure that you do not step through these doors until the healers allow it!"  
"_Annúmír!_" Legolas moaned. "You would not do such a thing, not to your own little brother...and besides, you cannot!" 

"Perhaps not, but I certainly can-and will!" a clear voice pronounced from the other end of the hall, before Lady Eluial appeared in a bustle of silken skirts and handmaidens.  
"Legolas, my child! What _have_ you done—what has happened to you?" she exclaimed, beautiful face shadowed with concern.  
"Nothing you have not seen before, Mother," he returned dryly. "Little more than a broken bone and a few bruises."  
"But the strain is making him short of breath and he was bleeding earlier," Annúmír added, completely disregarding the annoyed glance his friend shot him. 

Despite his protests, therefore, Legolas found himself escorted ignominiously through the broad passages to the chambers where Doronil and his colleagues spent their days, an all-too-solicitous Elf on either side. The queen's ladies followed in a worried and sympathetic crowd, exclaiming at the terrible state the poor prince was in. Legolas, whose memory of events in the forest was currently rather blurred—odd, how everything seemed to be rising and falling out of focus—wondered what they could be talking about: after all, the broken rib was not visible, and if everyone would just leave him alone he would be able to make his report to his father as usual. 

It was only when they had arrived in Doronil's antechamber and he had been seated on a cushioned couch usefully placed opposite a large mirror that he realised why he had been drawing so many dismayed and disdainful glances from those Elves less accustomed to battle and injury.  
In addition to a heavy limp caused by his inclination to favour his wounded side, his face had been heavily bruised in the fight with the spider. His tunic was torn across his chest and the makeshift sling had half slipped from his shoulder and was stained with seeping blood from the cut above his ribs. All of his clothes had been splashed with the spider's dark blood while his hair and face were soaked in the thick liquid, which, he now realised, was the source of the stench that had been bothering him ever since Annúmír and his companions had rescued them. 

"Oh, _Elbereth_," he murmured, gazing in consternation at the sorry reflection. "Naneth, did any of the children see me? I shall figure in their nightmares for months!"  
Eluial smiled a little as she removed the spattered bandage with tender hands.  
"Yes, this black haired, grimy and ragged soldier is a far cry from their well-clad Lord Legolas, with his shining hair and graceful stride," she admitted, before releasing a wave of pent-up emotion.  
"Oh, child, you frightened me terribly-all the garbled rumours of your injury that came in with the warriors, and then seeing you thus-"  
A distinctly offended expression crossed the dirty face below hers.  
"You did not really think this filth could be my blood, did you, Mother?"  
A muffled laugh from the other side of the room betrayed Annúmír, who was looking at the younger Elf with delighted amusement.  
"Do not fear, Lady Eluial-he is already becoming proud and vain of his appearance once more: he shall survive!"  
"If I were not incapacitated, you would wish that you had not said that," Legolas grumbled amiably. 

One of her maids had brought his mother a large basin of warm water and a bundle of soft cloths. She dipped one in the water and began gently wiping the blood from his face and hands.  
"You do not have to do this, Nana," he upbraided her lovingly, reverting to the childhood name that suited his child-like position.  
"I know that, _muin'u_, but I want to. I am your mother, and no-one else has the right to touch my son...not for the moment," Eluial finished with a sigh. "And no," she added, smiling once more. "I knew that the black blood was not yours, but who could tell whether or not there was crimson mingled with it?" 

It was at this point that Doronil entered through the door that led to his inner room. He had aided the healers in Menegroth and had been the master of those who ministered in Thranduil's halls for as Legolas could remember, and as such continued to treat Legolas as the Elf-child who had spent many hours waiting to have scraped knees and bruised elbows mended and eagerly watching as others were treated.  
"Ah, _ellon_!" he now exclaimed. "What have you brought to me this time?"  
"How is Culedhel?" Legolas asked in return, relieved but bemused by the smiles that sprang to the faces of the two apprentices who stood behind Doronil. The healer himself remained straight-faced but there was mirth lurking in the depths of his grey eyes.  
"He shall do very well...we have removed the remnants of silk that bound him, and given him a draught to help with the nausea he will doubtless be experiencing."  
"He is awake, then?"  
Doronil hesitated, but one of the young Elves could not restrain himself and burst out, "Not quite, my lord. Certainly not conscious of what he does!" His companion covered his face with a hand and turned discreetly away, but Legolas was sure that the fit of coughing he appeared to be suffering from was not due to any natural cause.  
"I am not going to ask," he said dryly, raising an eyebrow at the grinning young Elves. "I really do not want to know."  
Annúmír's lips quirked upward. "From my knowledge of Culedhel, perhaps you are wise, although doubtless the tale would prove...interesting."  
"Enough!" Doronil said sharply. "Come, my lady—will you help me bring your son inside?" 

This time, Legolas' grumblings were spoken internally only, and he suffered the queen and the healer to half-carry him into a small bathing chamber off the main infirmary. It appeared that his guides had come to an unspoken agreement that to allow Legolas into the vicinity of clean linen and injured patients would be a very bad idea indeed.  
While Doronil mixed a cup of various herbs—"And you suggested that I smell bad!" Legolas remarked. "At least I do not expect you to drink the dirty water!"—Eluial continued to wash away the blood and one of the apprentices carefully cut the tunic off in order to allow the healer to see the full extent of the injuries. 

"One of your more impressive efforts, Thranduilion," he commented, approaching with cup in hand. "Drink this: it will ease the pain."  
Legolas sniffed suspiciously. "I know what you put in this, Master Doronil," he said warningly. "I may be an archer rather than a healer, but I am not a fool."  
"You need something to stop any bleeding, _meleth_," his mother said pacifically. "And if you want to maintain any hopes of returning to your outdoor duties before spring, you will take the boneset."  
Immediately the cup was raised to Legolas' lips and the draught disappeared within seconds, but he could not prevent a grimace as the foul taste permeated his mouth and throat. 

Ignoring him, Doronil bent to examine the wound. "The skin has been broken by some blunt, heavy object—" "Yes, that seems a fairly accurate deduction," Legolas interrupted. Doronil took a cloth from his assistant and dipped it in a shallow bowl of potent-smelling liquid before wiping it gently along the cut. Legolas breathed sharply as the solution, intended to prevent infection, stung the flesh. "It has almost ceased to bleed, but I shall dress it all the same." 

Eluial, who had been absently running her fingers through her son's sticky hair, withdrew them suddenly and made a face. "As soon as you are finished here, you are going straight to the bath, _ûlum'u_!"  
The second apprentice, he who had experienced such respiratory problems, handed his master a box full of bandages, dressings and soft pads. Doronil selected one, placed it over the wound and taped it down with swift, expert hands. "I cannot bandage it, or cast the fracture, you know," he explained. "Your lungs need freedom to allow you to breathe." 

He turned away and washed and dried his hands before turning back to examine the now-clean skin. "It was the same blow that cracked your rib, wasn't it?"  
The injured Elf nodded, wincing as the healer's confident fingers passed over his chest, feeling the shape of the bones beneath.  
"It is snapped, certainly, but it seems to be a clean break...you have been fortunate. Breathe in a little, please."  
With one swift movement, the two ends of bone had been brought back together and Doronil ran his hand along the rib, satisfied. 

"Complete rest for two weeks and reduced exertion for another, and you should be well on your way to recovery," he informed Legolas, who grimaced. "Come, Doronil, you know it cannot take that long to heal—I am perfectly well in all other respects, I shall be much more contented if I am allowed to return to my duties...and you know that a happy patient is a healthy patient!"  
Eluial's silvery laughter echoed off the bare stone walls. "You are incorrigible, _iôn_! No, you shall remain here with me and all the paperwork that is lying in your study...and, if you still find yourself suffering from tedium, you could begin on the corresponding mountain in your father's library!"  
"Remind me once again why we pay salaries to several score of clerks and secretaries," Legolas demanded, with a smile that belied his words. "Very well, Mother, I will sit with you and your ladies, winding wool and listening to all the gossip of the court."  
"Take care, _ellon_," Doronil said, eyes glinting. "I remember another rash young Elf who made a similar promise in jest, but was taken at his word by your mother and made to fulfil it!" 

At this point Annúmír, who seemed to have appointed himself guardian of the door, poked his dark head around it and glanced around the main chamber. It held no visible occupants since Culedhel had been put in a screened off bed and was watched by a tall young apprentice, who had been given strict instructions to ensure the poisoned and currently incoherent Elf remained exactly where he was and was not allowed to indulge the tendency he had developed to wander. The queen caught sight of her foster son and called to him, and he hurried across to the small room where they all stood grouped around Legolas, casting concerned glances back at the door as he did so. 

"How are you feeling?" Annúmír inquired. "Much the same as I was when you insisted upon bringing me here, save that now I smell slightly better," Legolas answered teasingly.  
"Good, for an amiable hurricane just arrived in the outer room and demanded to see you, and I was not sure—"  
Legolas grinned. "I believe there are enough of us here to cope with the storm: tell Glînwë that he may come in." 

Translations

_Dagor Nuin Yrn_ — Battle under trees  
_gwador nín_ — my brother  
_mellyn nín_ — my friends  
_ellon (ellyn)_ — young male Elf (Elves)  
_tarlanc'u _— stiff necked one  
_muin'u _— dear one  
_meleth _— love  
_ûlum'u_ — stinking one  
_iôn_ — son

A/N: yes, it's been a very long time—again. But I can explain, really I can! This chapter has got to have had the most far-flung writing in my history of fanfiction...lots was written at home, some was written in comfy study last June, some was written sitting on a big rock looking out to sea at the Bloody Bridge, some was written in Belfast City Airport, some at 30,000 feet, some at the US Embassy in London, some at Heathrow, some more at 30,000 feet, some in silent study, some while driving along, some while lying in the garden...hmm, maybe that explains the disjointedness of the writing!

I know veyr little about First Aid, despite having taken a course in it, so the medical details are necessarily vague and probably incorrect ) I am working from the hypothesis that Elves heal approximately twice as quickly as humans, hence Legolas' three (rather than six) week convalescence period.

Six chapters, with this being by far the longest yet—and this thing was only meant to be ten at most. Erm. Maybe not. I'm probably going to be still writing this when I'm retired!

Celeb & Tin, the reviewy people ;) —see, it wasn't quite over for Legolas and the spiders...I begin to see why you enjoy Elf damage, but I'm not very good at it so far—maybe I need more practice grin I'm glad that you enjoyed it.


	7. Dreams and Memories

Disclaimer: All Tolkien's. None mine. Well…if you want to be exact, the parts you recognise are his. As for the parts you don't, it's a pretty safe bet that they're mine :)

* * *

_**Dreams and Memory**_

_Marriage, save for rare ill chances or strange fates, was the natural course of life of all the Eldar._

_Laws and Customs among the Eldar, Morgoth's Ring,_ J.R.R. Tolkien

Almost before Annúmír had left, a doubtful expression firmly in place, to convey Legolas' permission, Glînwë bounded into the room in an excess of energy and enthusiasm.

"Legolas! How can this be? The master of woodcraft, the undefeated archer-are they true, these rumours that you were near-bested by a mere spider?" he began gleefully.

"Yes, _neth ellon_," Legolas answered with mock-condescending patience. He knew very well that this teasing was the younger Elf's favourite method of repaying Legolas for all his lectures and rebukes and, also aware that a show of irritation was the best reward Glînwë would ask for, had long ago determined to withhold from him the satisfaction.

"_Ú-maenú_!" a clear soprano voice chided. "You should not tease Legolas so, after he has fought and been injured for the sake of one of his companions!"

Legolas glanced up in surprise at the slender, grey-clad elleth who stood behind her brother, for, otherwise occupied as he had been, he had not been aware of Lothiel's presence in the healers' rooms, nor had he realised that an accurate report of the day's activities would spread so rapidly.

_But I ought to have guessed, he thought wryly. Not even Imladris can rival the Woodland Realm in the speed of palace gossip._

Lothiel stepped past Glînwë, who had remained uncharacteristically silent at her rebuke, and placed a tray on the table by Legolas' stool.

"Broth, my lady," she explained, handing the cup to Eluial with a deferential nod before adding for Doronil's benefit, "There is nothing that should disturb the work of the herbs-there is no other reason why he should not eat a little, is there?"

Legolas had paused with the steaming cup at his lips until the healer confirmed he was allowed food, but his attention was suddenly diverted from the delicious liquid to Glînwë, whose words were unusually, incredibly harsh.

"Very solicitous of his well-being, are you not, Lothiel?"

His sister turned sharply but said only, "I am a healer, _muindor_. This is my job, and I am glad to do it," she added, smiling affectionately at Legolas.

"Are you now going to devote all your time and attention to Legolas, then-or would _Thalion_ not approve of such a course?" Glînwë returned with sudden sardonic bitterness.

Lothiel's oval face turned suddenly pale and all expression dropped from her features. Her tone was mild but her words carried a quiet intensity as she warned, "Not now, Glînwë."

"Why not?" he replied sharply. "I have nothing of which to be ashamed-but perhaps _you_ do!"

"Glînwë!" Doronil exclaimed, shocked and horrified by the usually devoted Elf's treatment of his sister, but the two combatants ignored him.

"I do not, as you should well know," Lothiel flashed back, "but this is neither the time nor the place to speak of your personal problems!"

"Why not?" the other repeated. "These are our friends, almost family-why should they not hear?"

"Because it is not a family concern!" Lothiel said, her voice hard. "It is _not your concern, Glînwë_-do you understand?"

Something indefinable flared in Glînwë's eyes and he made an abruptly curtailed movement, fists clenching reflexively. Legolas and Eluial, who had until now held themselves aloof from the dispute between the siblings, decided simultaneously that the time had come for external intervention.

"Glînwë, _daro_! _Daro si_!" Legolas commanded, his tone promising awful consequences for one who disobeyed; while his mother, not handicapped as he was by a broken rib and a cup of hot liquid, made a dash and caught Lothiel by the arm, pulling her away and ending the battle of locked eyes and wills.

Glînwë had fallen back at Legolas' order and seemed to desire a hasty departure, but after that display he could not be allowed simply to disappear.

"Go to my office, Glînwë. Do not think I will consent to let this pass unacknowledged. I do not know how much longer I will be here, but you must wait until I come."

Seeing the younger Elf hesitate, he waved his uninjured hand impatiently, an imperious gesture that reminded his mother suddenly and incongruously of Turgon, the Noldorin king of Gondolin and an Elf of whom she had not thought in months.

Realising that he was currently faced with an angry prince rather than a friend, Glînwë bowed formally and retreated. As the outer door swung to behind him, Lothiel let out a shuddering sigh and buried her face suddenly in Eluial's silk-gowned shoulder.

"Hush, my darling," the queen soothed, stroking the long plait of dark hair. "It is alright-we will see that things are put right."

Meeting her son's gaze over the top of the distraught girl's head, she motioned with her eyes towards the door and made a gesture of apology, to which he smiled understanding. The two women left, doubtless to retreat to Lothiel's rooms, where Eluial would proceed to extract the entire history of the quarrel and, in all probability, devise a plan for its solution.

Doronil looked at Legolas helplessly. "Broken heads I can manage. Broken relationships are something altogether different," he admitted.

Annúmír, who had wisely chosen to remain outside for the duration of the argument, now returned, glancing about him as though fearful that some injudicious word or deed could set the quarrel alight once more.

"It seems it may not have been such a good idea after all, allowing him in here," he suggested.

"Oh, I do not know: I imagine the argument was inevitable," Legolas answered thoughtfully as he rose slowly from the seat, testing the combined efficacy of the medicines and the regenerative power of his own _hröa_.

"I feel wonderful," he proclaimed, glancing hopefully at Annúmír and Doronil.

"I am glad to hear it," his foster brother replied, unperturbed, "for you shall need all your strength to mediate between those two...and that is the only battle in which you will be involving yourself!"

Defeated once again in his attempt for freedom, Legolas decided to abandon the now-cooling soup in favour of the bath that two servants were in the process of filling.

"Master Doronil!" a worried voice called from outside. "Master Doronil, come quickly! You are needed in the north wing!"

Moving with practised speed, the healer gathered his paraphernalia within seconds and walked swiftly to the door, flanked by his nephew and a slender elleth, both of whom were almost fully trained in the healing arts.

"Look after young Legolas," Doronil called over his shoulder to Annúmír, "and see that he does not over-exert himself!" His last words were accompanied by a fixed stare at the prince that was half warning and half amusement, for he had learned over the centuries that such remonstrances were all too likely to be in vain.

After the healer's departure, Annúmír pulled across the curtain that covered the doorway to the small chamber, allowing Legolas privacy to undress and step into the bath, which was currently sending up clouds of steam and smelled most inviting. Pouring soapy water over his filthy hair and running his fingers through it to loosen the dirt, Legolas thought over the unexpected fight between the two siblings.

"If having one's own Elflings is like this, I must once again question why anyone does it," he called.

Unseen, Annúmír raised an eyebrow.

"Considering the unholy young terror _you_ were, I do not think you are really in a position to bemoan the peccadilloes of your juniors!"

"Oh, but our plots and adventures were just that-we rarely fought among ourselves and generally came home at night uninjured. There is a difference between our mischief and this...we have not experienced this particular problem, I think, so I suppose his grievance-"

What Legolas' theory was, Annúmír was not to know, for at this point his brother broke off with a sudden yelp that was followed by much splashing. Pushing aside the curtain, Annúmír surveyed the scene with detached amusement. Legolas' good arm was flailing wildly, rubbing his face to the accompaniment of a stream of muffled curses, apparently aimed at soap, water, Annúmír, Doronil, spiders, plumbers and himself, though not necessarily in that order.

"Soap in your eye? _Now_ who is the Elfling?"

The only answer was a wave of warm water, directed with surprising accuracy at Annúmír's face. Spluttering, he left Legolas to his own devices and dripped away to beg a towel from a very bemused attendant.

Returning to Legolas' small bathing room, he discovered the younger Elf happily catching up handfuls of frothing bubbles and blowing them away again, all the while humming snatches of song. It was a phenomenon common in his family, he had long ago informed Annúmír.

_"Put anyone with even the remotest kinship to Elu in a bathing pool," Legolas had remarked cheerfully, "and at once we forget all our concerns and responsibilities. Ada, I think, is the worst, but even the gravest members become light-hearted; I once heard Cousin Elrond singing rude Quenya songs in his bathing room at Imladris, and Uncle Celeborn started up from across the hall in Sindarin...it was quite amusing to hear them compete with one another and the splashing, and to watch Aunt Galadriel and Cousin Celebrían laugh. I think it must be something about warm water and scented soap that affects our brains," he had concluded thoughtfully._

"All I can taste is lavender," Annúmír complained. Legolas glanced up, gleefully unrepentant.

"You needed your mouth washed out after insulting the name of Thranduilion," he said with a grin, balancing the sponge on one finger.

"Thankfully for all concerned, I am now a lot cleaner and do not smell _nearly_ as bad, but the sling is soaking and I think my hair is a lost cause," he added, gazing down ruefully at the tangled mess that hung over one shoulder. "It was already blown about, and the blood seems to have matted it inextricably: they'd better just cut it off, I think!"

"I remember the _last_ time you induced me to do that, and I have no desire to repeat the experience...but I do not think we need resort to such drastic measures: you have been trying to untangle it with only one hand, but I shall help you."

Legolas eyed him suspiciously. "You'll pull it," he accused. "I swore never to let you touch it again."

Annúmír shrugged lightly as he answered dismissively, "Very well, but I warn you that you shall cause quite a sensation when you appear at your father's table with a bird's nest instead of hair."

Grumbling and reluctant, Legolas finally acquiesced, though not without several attempts to see exactly what his brother was doing that merely led to him causing himself more pain. Annúmír was silent for several moments as he worked, but at last he spoke.

"Do you not think that you take too much responsibility for Glînwë-and Lothiel, if it comes to that?"

Legolas looked around in surprise. "Why, I-do you think so?"

"It is not for me to say, _gwador nín_."

Again for some time there was quietness as Legolas gazed at the curtain in deep reflection.

"When their parents left, they were still so young-I promised to look after them as my own kin, Annúmír, and I have tried, always..."

"I know that well," the other said gently. "But they are neither of them children any longer: even you acknowledge him to be a fully trained soldier of the realm, despite the episode with the deer, while Lothiel's skill as a healer is becoming as renowned as her beauty."

"Yes...but they were entrusted to me-almost the last thing he ever said to me was 'Care for my children' and I have always feared to disappoint him, to betray the trust he placed in me. I suppose I have tried to hold onto them, to keep them within the sphere of my protection for even longer than I would have done with a child of my own."

"Oh, I do not know," Annúmír teased, though his eyes were grave at the thought of their absent friend. "The wildest children make the most cautious parents, after all: I look forward to the day you become a father...that should be an occasion to behold!"

"_Annabyn_ may very well learn to fly before that happens!" Legolas retorted, before glancing about urgently as the sound of a voice in the outer chamber drew his attention back to his most immediate difficulties.

"Quickly, Annúmír-have you finished?"

"Yes; I must just rinse it down," he replied, briefly contemplating whether or not to douse Legolas with the bowlful of cold water he held, but in the end taking pity on the injured Elf and instead handing him one of the towels the servants had left outside to air.

"Now, make haste," Legolas said, wrapping himself in the thick material and squeezing rivulets of water from his hair before stepping from the tub and pulling the plug to release the swirling, dirty water. "See whether you cannot find another sling, for it will be hours until this one dries, and then we can be off."

Annúmír stared at his brother in shocked amusement.

"Have I misheard or do you intend, on the strength of only one draught of herbs, to walk the entire distance from here to you own chambers clad only in that towel?"

"Unless you can find a spare bathrobe or tunic lying around, _yes_," Legolas returned irritably. "Doronil may return at any moment, and we must be away. I will _not _be subjected to any further ministrations, do you hear me?"

"Yes, certainly," Annúmír replied dryly. "I imagine everyone from here to the Great Hall did, too."

Not bothering to dignify that opinion with an answer, Legolas rearranged his towels more securely and headed for the door with a rapidity that would have surprised anyone who had not accompanied him through several previous "convalescences". Annúmír, who _had_ done so, strolled after him with an air of one who anticipates future excitement.

By the time he had passed through the-fortunately empty-antechamber, Legolas was already a dozen paces down a hall that branched left, heading deeper into the palace.

"Legolas!" he called, hurrying to catch up. "You are going in the wrong direction!"

Without bothering to look behind him, the blonde Elf replied, "No, I'm not-that part is far too busy and trying to get anywhere by the main halls without horrifying half a dozen courtiers and a score of _ellyth _would be about as easy as carrying off the treasure of Erebor without waking the Dragon, and I'm not trying either. Yet."

They had reached a junction where three corridors met and Legolas, after glancing warily down each, limped off along the right-hand one. After a moment or two Annúmír ventured a query.

"You do know that you are leaving a blatantly obvious trail of drips behind you?"

Turning, Legolas observed with dismay that Annúmír was speaking the truth, but after a moment an idea came to him and, moving as quickly as he could towards a large stone urn, squeezed out the treacherous water from his hair before grinning impishly at his brother, who merely remarked,

"Of course, Doronil and your mother will be well aware of your escape as soon as they return and will quite soon find you."

"Oh, yes," Legolas replied cheerfully, "but I doubt whether they will force me back to the infirmary if I can prove that I am well, I am dressed and I am busy with very important matters. Besides, if I keep moving I might be able to avoid them until dinner."

Annúmír sighed. _Skilled tactician Legolas may be, but this is certainly not one of his better planned manoeuvres,_ he thought wryly. _Perhaps the analgesics are affecting his mind. _As he did, Legolas was disturbed by the sound of low conversation approaching from the opposite direction. Before Annúmír could say "Mind your ribs!" Legolas had slipped into the most convenient place of concealment-a statue of his Vanyarin great-grandmother, as it happened. Annúmír, well versed in diversionary tactics, halted in front of the niche where Legolas hid and pretended to re-adjust a vambrace until the two attendants had passed. Each nodded deferentially at him, but neither seemed to notice his more furtive companion. In the murmur of their conversation Annúmír thought he discerned the name _Mithrandir_ and the word _east_. Although dismissing the conversation as mere court gossip, he filed the overheard words for future reference.

A moment later Legolas emerged, smiling delightedly. "Daernaneth never lets us down," he commented, affectionately patting the statue of the lady whom he had never met.

Five minutes and eight changes of direction later Annúmír, who had never been overly enamoured of the stone halls, was hopelessly lost. Since three of the corridors they had followed had been impromptu choices on the part of Legolas in order to avoid encountering two wandering waiting-ladies and a pair of men re-hanging tapestries, he was also beginning to doubt whether Legolas was any more in command of the situation than he. What concerned him more, however, was the fact that Legolas' breath had quickened and he supported his arm as though his side pained him. Seeming determined to repay Annúmír for his behaviour in the Forest, he refused to hear of a rest-and as for giving up and sending for a litter so he could be carried to his chambers, that was out of the question.

"You have no idea where we are, do you?" Annúmír asked conversationally as they turned into a narrow passage that bore a modern fresco of the destruction of Dale.

"Of course I do. Despite the obvious disadvantages of navigating within stone rather than among the trees, I have had two thousand years to become acquainted with this place-you ought to have done likewise," he said, rather severely. "Then again," he added thoughtfully but still cheerfully despite his obvious discomfort, "many of my more recent explorations occurred while seeking for Glînwë after he had escaped his tutors..."

There was light ahead-green-filtered daylight, Annúmír realised with some surprise. After a moment they came out into one of the palace's broad, glass roofed atria but Legolas hurried through it with barely a pause to feel the sun on his face.

"Another left...turn through this arch and...glance down this hall, if you please, Annúmír, and tell me whether there is anyone nearby."

The elder Elf did so and stifled an exclamation of astonishment, for Legolas' apparently pathless wanderings had led them to a corridor that emerged almost directly opposite a door he recognised as that of Legolas' chambers. The prince smiled triumphantly and limped across the hall, calmly pushed open the carved door and sank with a sigh onto the tapestried couch that stood just inside.

"You see? I knew exactly where we were going," he remarked, before a strict habit of truthfulness prompted him to add, "Well, _most_ of the time, anyway, and any servants or apprentices who may be searching for us will probably have come and gone by now."

He glanced around the room with keen eyes that took in every detail.

_Yes-someone has certainly entered since last I was here..._

Someone...

Annúmír suddenly laughed and Legolas turned to stare at him, unsure what had provoked this sudden mirth.

"Perhaps it is merely my sense of humour, _gwador nín_, but does it not strike you as somewhat ridiculous that you are preparing to cope with young Glînwë's misdemeanours while you are yourself a fugitive from authority?"

"Not authority. Doronil." Legolas corrected, but something unidentifiable pulled at the corner of his lips.

Rising once more he moved to the corner of the room and began rummaging through drawers full of leggings, undershirts and tunics, but Annúmír had other ideas. Throwing open the broad wardrobe doors, he surveyed the tailor's paradise within: dozens of shirts of linen and silk, trousers in a score of different shades, and robes: rows of robes of silk and velvet and fine wool from the east; robes adorned with delicate embroidery, with jewels and with threads of gold and silver; robes of azure and crimson and soft green; robes wonderfully patterned and woven and lined with contrasting shades.

"You have so many _beautiful_ clothes, Legolas, and you rarely ever wear most of them...it's such a waste!" he teased. "You never know who might suddenly arrive from Imladris, after all."

Legolas' grey eyes narrowed. He folded his arms and managed, despite his less-than-dignified attire, to look more than usually intimidating.

"Do you remember the story Father sometimes tells, about Fingon and the amazing robes? I shall have a replica sewn for your next begetting day gift so that you, at least, can impress anyone of more flamboyant taste in dress! Fingon was Noldorin and a king to boot, and allegedly managed to avoid appearing ridiculous-I shall be interested to see if you can do likewise, particularly since I never truly believed that part of the tale."

Annúmír grinned. "I shall look forward to them," he replied before returning to his delving through his brother's clothes. "Go and sit down, now, and I will find you something fitting for a prince."

Complying, Legolas curled himself in a corner of the couch and began absently running a towel through his still-damp hair.

_As long as it isn't the purple...thing...Glorfindel brought..._

He began manipulating his injured arm, pleased with the resulting mobility. Now that he was at rest once more the pain had almost disappeared: there was no denying that Doronil's remedies were effective, if often unpleasant.

His mind drifted back to earlier in the day, to the expedition that had so nearly proved fatal for Culedhel-and for himself, if truth be told. It was not the nearness of death that troubled him, for there had been many occasions as he progressed through the ranks of the army of Greenwood when he had been so close to the halls of Mandos as to be able almost to touch their gates. It was the _manner_ of the incident...

_Something has upset the balance of the Forest, disturbed the trees, made the spiders yet more cunning, affected even ourselves. If this is some new, subtle assault from Dol Guldur..._

Legolas suppressed a shudder at the name of that place, for as son of the king he was all too aware of what it was that lurked in the south of their forest, poisoning the memory of his grandfather's home. For two thousand years they had fought the encroaching Shadow, for half that time they had feared the truth and yet it was a mere nine decades since that meeting when Mithrandir had stood with a face like grey stone and told them what it was he had discovered in his nightmare journey into the stronghold of evil, when he had confirmed the inevitable.

It was a hopeless war, of course, full of dear-bought victories and decisive defeats: who could hope to vanquish the lieutenant of Morgoth when his power had been allowed to grow for centuries, apparently unchecked save for the small arrows of the Elves, which could kill spiders and orcs but made little impact on the malice that directed them.

_And my father wears no Ring..._

Annúmír turned, arms full of deep blue silk, and surprised a strangely vulnerable expression in Legolas' eyes.

"What is it that troubles you?" he asked gently.

"My mother may speak of hope unlooked-for, but unless some chance comes that I cannot foresee, we are lost," Legolas replied quietly. _And soon_, he added silently, resting his chin on his knees.

There could be no false comfort in denial, Annúmír knew.

"Yes," he answered simply as he carefully draped the robe and ivory undershirt over the back of a chair. "But after all, few can foresee their fate until it is reached."

Behind a concealing curtain of golden hair, Legolas smiled briefly, but when he spoke it was more to himself than his brother.

"We are few, and the Dúnedain are fewer...if not we, who then can save Middle-earth?"

To that there could be no answer.

With a sudden effort Legolas cast aside his dark mood and walked across the room to survey the clothes Annúmír had selected. On recognising the simple, long sleeved robe his face took on a distinct expression of relief, and Annúmír guessed he had been anticipating the arrival of one of the more elaborate works of a seamstress's art with which his wardrobe was blessed.

Dressing Legolas required the combined efforts of both Elves, and there was some difficulty in removing the still-damp sling before the undershirt could be put on.

"It is ridiculous-they should be made waterproof!" Legolas growled.

"Evidently Doronil did not take into account your rather enthusiastic bathing habits: I shall have him notified," Annúmír replied, irony lacing his tone as he extended the undershirt. Legolas slipped into it, inhaling sharply as his left arm caught in the sleeve, and quickly fastened the buttons with his right hand.

When it came to donning the robe, however, the situation became more complicated and the lack of a second fully functioning arm more important. It was only after Legolas had given vent to several silk-muffled imprecations and exclamations of pain that his tousled head appeared once more through a sea of material.

"I think you tried to put my head through the armhole on purpose," he complained as Annúmír helped to settle the sleeves. He, however, was experiencing a momentary panic resulting from the belief that they had put the accursed garment on back to front, and was not in a position to reply.

Five minutes later their struggles had produced a fully clad Legolas, complete with shoes and a fresh sling, but his hair remained loose.

"I don't think I could reach the back of my head with this arm, and I am not confident of my one-handed plaiting abilities," Legolas commented doubtfully to the hairbrush.

"If you promise not to try to escape like you did as a child, I will do it for you," Annúmír answered, catching the silver handle from his brother's hand. Sweeping the hair away from Legolas' forehead, he twisted it rapidly into a simple braid and bound it securely.

"There: a perfect example of a young lord or ambassador...definitely not a barely-alive captain who couldn't be recognised for filth! I do not believe even Doronil would consider you a candidate for a prolonged stay in the infirmary."

Even as Annúmír spoke there was a sharp knock upon the door, which immediately swung open to admit a whirl of golden hair and emerald robes that gradually resolved itself into the person of Thranduil.

"Legolas!" he exclaimed, concerned eyes running over his son's form. "What has happened? Are you injured?" His gaze had taken in Legolas' smile as well as the sling, and relief could be seen seeping through his previous fear as he placed a gentle hand on the younger Elf's shoulder.

"I heard about your battle just a few moments ago, for some fool of a councillor-whose identity I intend to discover-decided to refuse entry to anyone and everyone seeking speech with me, which included that soldier of yours."

"Thôntir?"

"Yes...I was leaving the chamber and met him in hot dispute with one of the doorwards. I went at once to the healers' rooms, to find that you, your mother and Doronil had all disappeared, leaving a pair of very worried novices searching for you and wondering how on Middle-earth they were to explain themselves."

The king's face broke into a smile. "I guessed that you must have escaped, so I reassured the poor ellyth as to your probable condition and whereabouts and came to find you myself. Tell me truly, Legolas; are you well?"

"Yes, my lord-I received a scratch and a snapped rib for my folly, nothing more."

"But what happened?"

Legolas felt the weight of his father's gaze bent upon him, and raised his eyes to meet it unflinchingly.

"Culedhel and I allowed ourselves to get into some trouble with a pair of spiders from which I managed to extricate us."

"Metaphorically and, in Culedhel's case, literally," Annúmír murmured aside.

"Then the rumour that you were almost killed that is pervading the palace contains no truth?" Thranduil asked gravely, eyes burning into his son's.

Conscious of the small crowd of guards and courtiers that had gathered around the doorway, Legolas said only, "I will make my report this evening as always and you may judge for yourself as to the seriousness of the encounter."

Clearly dissatisfied by his son's reticence but for the moment acquiescent, the king took his leave of both Annúmír and Legolas, though leaving the latter in no doubt that further explanation would be required, and strode swiftly back towards the central halls of the palace with a bevy of attendants hurrying in his vibrant wake.

In the silence that followed Legolas spoke suddenly. "What time is it?" he asked, apparently apropos of nothing.

"It was four hours past noon when we left Doronil's chambers and that must be near an hour ago."

"Almost the eleventh hour? And you are still carrying your quiver and wearing your cloak—I'll wager you have neither eaten nor washed since the morning, either," Legolas exclaimed, dismayed.

Annúmír shrugged lightly. "I will do well enough: it wants only three hours until dinner."

"No," Legolas protested. "Go and change, and find something to eat...I shall manage Glînwë!"

"If you are certain," Annúmír answered with a smile, holding the door open for his brother. Together they walked the short distance to Legolas' study.

"_Hannon le_," the younger Elf called as his brother continued towards his own rooms, and Annúmír smiled briefly in acknowledgment.

Despite his confident words, Legolas felt uneasy as he faced the carven oak door. As he had begun to explain to Annúmír, he was already fairly certain he knew the general cause of the trouble between the siblings, but some important aspect of the situation still eluded him. Pushing open the door he entered the study and glanced around. It was a familiar room, beautifully furnished with simple elegance: desk and chairs carved by an artisan of Rivendell; cupboards lined with shelves stacked with books and scrolls; framed maps hanging from ceiling to floor, marked with cryptic annotations and ominous arrows. Metal work of Gondolin, Doriathrin tapestry and stones of Valinor ornamented the room in graceful accompaniment to more recent examples of the craft of the Wood Elves. Here, if nowhere else, past and present, Vanyarin, Noldorin and Lindarin heritage could remain in harmonious and beautiful reconciliation. Delicate Second Age engravings flanked the broad window, which opened onto the hill where velvet-smooth grass spread between the ancient, wide-spaced beeches and oaks that cast dappled shade over the gardens his mother loved. Birds sang sleepily in the afternoon sunshine that slanted hazily down between the smooth boles.

Standing by the window was Glînwë, head bowed and whole attitude speaking of an uncharacteristic dejection. Legolas felt a sudden wave of pity for the young Elf who had suddenly discovered an intruder who would change the mutual devotion that had hitherto bonded brother and sister so closely together.

_But that does not justify his cruelty, Legolas told himself sternly before sympathy could completely replace his anger against the miserable Elf. All the same, his tone when he spoke was considerably gentler than Glînwë had anticipated._

"Come and sit down, Glînwë."

They seated themselves on opposite sides of the table but for some time neither spoke. Legolas glanced through a number of papers scattered across the table before impatiently gathering them together and picking up a puzzle that consisted of a score of wooden pieces, cleverly carved to fit in only one way to form a solid sphere and almost impossible to solve. After carefully setting each section together, Legolas discovered that the central bar was so notched as to prevent it slipping into the otherwise complete ball and, laughing at his own ineptitude, cast the toy away. Glînwë had been watching his friend's activities somewhat listlessly, but it was, as Legolas had expected, he who at last broke the silence.

"I am sorry you are injured, Legolas, and-I'm glad you were not killed," he said hastily.

"So am I," the other replied dryly. "Thank you...but I do not think you have waited so long to discuss my health."

A muscle in Glînwë's cheek flickered but he made no other sign as he answered quietly,

"It is as you wish, my lord."

Even as he spoke, Legolas came to a sudden, swift decision. What he was about to say should have been spoken long before and merely because Glînwë's actions had been wrong did not make Legolas' own right.

"Glînwë, whatever I may have intended when I sent you here, I cannot punish you for your words to Lothiel."

Glînwë looked up sharply, eyes registering bewilderment, and Legolas smiled briefly: he would have been equally confused, had he been faced by himself speaking thus.

"It was not a military offence, so I cannot reprimand you as your commanding officer. Nor am I your father," -again the grey eyes flickered with treacherous emotion- "and since you are both full grown in years I have little right to adjudicate in your disagreements."

For a moment he hesitated, still not quite believing what he had said, then carried on in a flow of words he had never meant to speak.

"I have known you since you were born, and considered myself accountable for your care for almost as long. It is...difficult...for me to realise that you are no longer a child, that you are now only my responsibility as Thalion or Culedhel or any of the others are: as an Elf, a soldier of my father's kingdom-and as a friend."

Again Legolas paused and Glînwë drew a deep breath but released it again without speaking. His gaze was fixed on the puzzle, which had rolled to within a few inches of his side of the desk. He seemed to Legolas' eyes to have grown suddenly more vulnerable, unsure of himself, and the older Elf felt a wave of sympathy and affection.

At last Glînwë spoke.

"Since I was a tiny _ellon_ I have longed to be free of the care of others, to be my own master and responsible for myself...I gladly accepted orders from army officers, for the very fact that I was a soldier seemed to inarguably prove me an Elf grown. It was the other things that frustrated me," he admitted, looking up with sudden candour to meet Legolas' eyes. "Being told when to have a new tunic made, reminded not to drink too much..."

Legolas refrained from the obvious reply that such warnings had all too often been necessary, but his raised eyebrow betrayed his thoughts and Glînwë acknowledged it with a smile of his own, but there was a strangely wistful expression in his eyes. Legolas watched him keenly, reading his mood and guessing at the turmoil of spirit that provoked it.

"In my heart, however, I knew that all was done out of affection-and perhaps my subconscious mind is wiser than my conscious, for now that you have released me from all your advice and warnings, I feel strangely bereft," he concluded with a flash of that swift, lopsided smile of his.

_That was not what I meant!_ Legolas thought, and stared at him for several seconds before impulsively springing from his chair and rounding the table-not without a muffled exclamation as he received a very tangible reminder of the wound whose existence he had almost forgotten-to stand above the young Elf.

Reaching down, he clasped him by the shoulders and answered emphatically, "No, Glînwë! That shall _never_ be, not as long as I am alive in this world! Why, do you think that I do not consult my father often, or that Annúmír and I no longer advise one another? I am not—abandoning—you: any help you may desire I shall attempt to give to the best of my ability...and I do not think," he added wryly, "that I will find it easy to immediately cease giving the help you do _not_ want, so have no fear!"

Glînwë laughed, and much of the shadow that had lain so unnaturally over his youthful face dispersed as though the mirth illuminated his features. Almost immediately, however, his eyes darkened and his lips silently formed the syllables of his sister's name.

"If you wish," Legolas said tentatively, lowering himself with uncharacteristic caution into an armed chair, "to tell me what has happened between you, I will listen—as a friend—and give you what advice and help I can...should you wish it."

"Yes," the young Elf replied unhappily, drawing his legs up beneath him with easy grace and wrapping his arms about them. "Yes, I do wish it, for I showed everyone in Doronil's rooms that I am incapable of treating my own sister in the way that I should, unable to care for her as I wish without alienating her," he said miserably, his face and voice full of bitter anguish that drew the sympathy from Legolas' heart. "I have offended her too deeply for any easy amends, and I think perhaps the situation has gone beyond even your ability to redirect."

"Very likely it has; judging by both your performances this afternoon the quarrel between you has been some time in the making," Legolas conceded, "but let us hope that it is not beyond my mother's."

He was greatly relieved by Glînwë's suddenly communicative and penitent attitude, for the young soldier, when experiencing one of his unusual bouts of temper, would fly into a high rage that generally faded before the daylight did. Glînwë would then act as merrily as ever and prove quite unable to understand his comrades' surprise. On this occasion, however, Legolas had feared that he might remain angry, refusing to accept his share of the blame, but his concern had evidently been unfounded. Glînwë's face showed only his sorrow for what he had said and done and, Legolas suspected, more deeply for the cause of his bitter outpouring, but he had cheered somewhat at the mention of the Queen, for every Elf in Middle-earth knew that Thranduil Oropherion had wed the best diplomatic genius to survive the destruction of the First Age.

Before Glînwë could begin his tale there came a soft knock at the door, which opened to admit one of the Elves who waited on the king's table, bearing a tray of wine and fruit and pastries.

"_Hannon le_. The lord Annúmír asked that this be brought?" Legolas asked.

"Yes, my lord—he ordered one tray be brought to his chambers and one to yours."

Bowing briefly, the Elf turned to go, but paused at the door. "I heard of your injury, my lord...I thank Elbereth for your recovery," he said simply, before noiselessly slipping through the door once more.

_So Annúmír has tactfully decided not to appear, Legolas remarked to himself, choosing a rosy apple and slicing it with firm, swift strokes. Perhaps he is right...Glînwë seems to have been successfully diverted by the cakes, he noted with amusement, but I do not think it will be long before the pain in his heart surfaces once more._

Legolas remarked to himself, choosing a rosy apple and slicing it with firm, swift strokes. he noted with amusement,

That prediction proved to be correct, for within a mere matter of seconds Glînwë had cast away the plate of confections and returned to his previous position, watching with sombre eyes as Legolas finished the fruit, poured himself some wine and returned to his chair.

Gazing intently at the silver jug, Glînwë began softly to speak.

"Lothiel is the only blood-kin I have left alive East of the Sea. One by one we have lost almost everyone else whom we loved, and since she was an infant she has been the dearest thing in the world to me. And now—she wishes to marry Thalion."

He fell silent, fingers unconsciously pulling Legolas' puzzle to pieces.

"It is natural, a desire to wed," Legolas reminded him gently. Glînwë glanced up, eyes full of pain.

"I know that! Do you think it is mere selfishness that denies her my blessing? No doubt that is what she believes, too." He rose and walked restlessly to the open window, seeming to take comfort in the strength of the Song.

"Of course I will miss her, regret the loss of our special companionship—but I have always known that one day she would come to love another more than she does me; and that perhaps I, too, will eventually wish to marry also…ridiculous as it sounds." He smiled briefly, though the mirth did not reach his eyes, and returned to his chair.

"If you have a reason for opposing her choice, why do you not tell us?" Legolas asked, increasingly confused and concerned. He could not understand now Glînwë could dislike the idea of Thalion as a husband for his sister: they had always been friendly and the younger Elf respected Thalion as he did few others. Though the difference in age between Thalion and Lothiel was considerable, if it did not trouble them Legolas did not see why it should Glînwë…

"But that is just it!" Glînwë exclaimed. "If it was something in Thalion's character or situation to which I objected, I would have spoken of it to Lothiel as soon as I became aware of the mutual esteem growing between them."

His eyes dropped to the handful of wooden pieces on the table before him and he began to place them together with a distracted air. Legolas was growing more and more bewildered and uneasy, for Glînwë's distress and resistance of his sister's choice evidently sprang from a genuine source.

"Why do you not tell me how it began—when you first knew of their affection and what disturbed you so?"

Helpless though he felt, the soft tone of Legolas' musical voice seemed to soothe the other Elf's troubled spirit and he began more calmly,

"It was during _laer_, shortly after that last attack, that I first noticed the change in Lothiel. I did not understand until I saw her together with Thalion and recognised the look that passed between them."

Legolas knew the look of which he spoke, for he had witnessed it himself only a few nights before. Glînwë looked at him with pleading eyes. "I was content—I was _happy_ for her, I swear it to you!"

It was impossible to deny that he was speaking the truth: Legolas had rarely seen him so earnest, so desperate to be believed.

"I thought that she would soon tell me of their wish to be wed, and the betrothal could be arranged: I was willing to stand in place of our father."

Again he paused and the room fell silent save for the drowsy murmurs of roosting birds. The evening sun spilled through the long windows, lighting every shining surface with a fiery glow.

"But when she did come to me, a few days later…I refused to give them my blessing." There was anguish in his face and Legolas had to prompt gently, "Why?" The words at last came tumbling from Glînwë's lips in eager haste.

"I was as sorry as she, I believe—it was torment to have to destroy my sister's joy and hope, but I had to—I had to!"

The love that exists between an Elven man and woman is something very strong, very powerful and yet delicate; something that is incomprehensible until experienced; something that comes but once and lasts a lifetime. Although he had not yet known it himself, Legolas had seen it too many times to believe that Glînwë would succeed in parting his sister form her lover, strive though he might.

The agitation in the young Elf's voice had risen and Legolas met his eyes, knowing that they had reached the crux of the conversation.

"Why?" he asked again, voice very quiet. The single syllable seemed suddenly to dispel Glînwë's panic and when he spoke again it was calmly, deliberately. To Legolas, it seemed as though he was attempting to distance himself from his own words.

"The night after I had seen them," he said slowly, "I dreamed."

At his words, Legolas felt a shiver run through his body and a chill of foreboding, so vivid was the memory, despite the passing years, that they called to mind. He could see her eyes, wide with fear, their beauty marred by horror; feel the icy fingertips grip his arm with immortal strength; smell the incongruous sweetness of lilac blossom; hear again her voice is his mind, high and desperate…"_I dreamed!" _

Glînwë's mother had seen what she believed to be the future, and driven half-mad by it she had fled, had run to escape that which was inevitable, had tried to hide from the Shadow that would cover all, had attempted to evade an evil that had relentlessly pursued their people since the Awakening. And now Glînwë, too, had seen…

"I cannot recall all that I saw as I dreamed, Legolas, but always it was Lothiel's face that rose before my eyes; she was wed to Thalion, but their marriage brought so much grief, so much anguish to her spirit!"

The young Elf's face was etched with pain, as though even the recollection of the dream caused him physical suffering.

"Cut off from those she loved, lost, alone, abandoned in a fading world because she was seeking for something she could never find, hunted always, carrying Death in her arms…"

Glînwë now was gripping the arm of his chair with white fingers and horror burned out of his darkened eyes.

"And I _can not bear to see her thus_!"

Drained and exhausted, he collapsed back into his chair and his eyes fell shut as he sought to calm mind and spirit. Legolas watched him silently for some time as the thoughts in his mind whirled and slowly settled. He understood Glînwë, of course, and found it difficult to know whether he could have reacted any differently, had a future of such appalling, unmitigated bleakness been prophesied for one whom he loved as dearly as Glînwë did his sister. It seemed incredible, too, that Glînwë could have carried such a burden of fear for so many days while appearing in his usual high spirits…_but there are depths to everyone that cannot be understood_, Legolas reflected.

"Have you told her of this?" he asked quietly. Glînwë's eyes flew open again and he sat up, shocked. "No! Of course not—how could I? I would rather she thought badly of me than of Thalion…and think badly of me she certainly does," he added wearily. "Last week—she asked again if I would not change my mind and when I refused, she told me that they needed not the blessing of a jealous brother. Though I had no right to, I grew angry that she chose to remain with him rather than listen to me; we exchanged words we should not have, and we did not speak from then until this afternoon."

Realisation dawned. "So when you asked her whether she had anything of which to be ashamed…" Glînwë groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "Yes. I was suggesting—oh, I do not know what, exactly…that she was planning to or had already married him without any ceremony—but I knew, of course, that she had not done _that_, at least…"

_It is little wonder she was angered._

The realm of Elven foresight is an uncertain one at best, but one thing was clear to Legolas: of all the things Glînwë dreaded in his sister's life, one had already been realised—and it had been Glînwë's behaviour that caused it.

"Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophesy?" Across the table, the dark head lifted slightly and two grey eyes peered out from the folds of Glînwë's green sleeves.

"No…" His tone was curious, interested, hopeful, and Legolas smiled.

"The first thing you told me of your dream was that Lothiel was alone, isolated from her family."

The eyes widened.

"She has had no contact with you—her family—for a week, so that part, at least, has come true."

Glînwë now sat up completely, radiating confusion. "But…I do not understand. She has not even married him yet! How—?"

Legolas turned and stared outside the window, where everything seemed so beautiful, so innocent, so free of the complications of life; but nothing is ever as it seems.

"Visions such as yours show what may be, but not necessarily what will be," Legolas continued, searching for words to explain what he did not truly comprehend. "I do not know why they are granted: maybe it would be better not to have them at all, for to change one's course on the strength of a vision of the future holds many risks." The Lady Galadriel, perhaps, knew more of foresight than any other on Middle-earth, but even her wisdom granted only possibilities, not certainties.

Glînwë frowned with concentration. "Then…if it is only by withholding my blessing from Lothiel that we are parted, will the rest of what I saw only come to pass through my attempts to prevent it?" He gazed at Legolas, face suffused with sudden hope. "If that is so, they may be married tonight, as far as I am concerned!" Unwilling to shatter Glînwë's expectations, Legolas replied slowly, "We do not know the purposes of the Valar is sending or allowing them, and until we do—" he shrugged lightly, and cast a wry smile at his companion "—in times such as these it is perhaps wiser to value practicality over philosophy, as far as foreknowledge is concerned."

"You mean, _ignore_ it?" Glînwë exclaimed, surprised. Legolas grinned.

"All my Noldorin kin would doubtless disown me and lock me in a cupboard for an Age or two if they knew, but since they are almost all either dead or in Eressëa, I believe I have at least even odds that they shall never hear of my heresy. If another ambassador ever comes up from Lórien, never mention it, Glînwë!"

Glînwë, however, was too concerned to be distracted by Legolas' flippancy.

"But why, why then do they send us visions to torment us if we are to act as though they had never been?" he demanded, slamming pieces of the puzzle together with angry energy.

"Not being a Vala, I do not know. Ask them when you meet them," Legolas returned calmly.

"I do not think it is fair, or right!" Glînwë snapped. "Tell them that, too," Legolas retorted. "For the present, however, I suspect that you would put your time to better use in determining precisely what you are going to tell Lothiel and how you are going to repair your relationship."

Anger fading into thought, Glînwë gazed at the final handful of wooden shapes in his hand.

"I could tell her that she has my blessing?" he suggested.

"That would be a start."

"And that I'm very sorry, but it was only because I was worried about her?"

"Probably a good idea…you're not going to tell her, then?"

"No! I am going to do as you say and ignore it, for the moment. Perhaps it was only a nightmare, after all, and this has all been exaggerated and unnecessary paranoia on my part," he remarked hopefully.

Amazed anew by Glînwë's capacity for swift changes in temper, Legolas only nodded. Smiling, the younger Elf slotted the last pieces together to form a perfect sphere, which he placed triumphantly in the centre of the table. Catching up a handful of the untouched pastries, he walked to the door, step once more light.

"I am going to seek for Lothiel," he called back in explanation. "Thank you for helping me, Legolas."

The door closed softly behind him and Legolas remained in his chair, gazing across to where he had sat. Glînwë's final words were rather bemusing: what, after all, had he done, save for listening to his troubles? And whatever Glînwë's opinion of his dream might now be, Legolas knew that he would not so easily remove from his own mind the shadow that Glînwë's relation of what he had seen had cast there.

"Exiles be damned," he complained aloud. "Why cannot we all be Silvan like Glînwë?"

"I believe that is precisely the opinion expressed by some among your more notable ancestors," a dry voice answered. "But since it seemed only to get them into trouble, I would not advise you to take it up at this stage, after managing to remain tolerant and more-or-less well-balanced for so long."

"Annúmír!" Legolas exclaimed. His friend had exchanged his tunic for a set of crimson robes patterned with gold, and still held a cup of wine loosely between slim, pale fingers.

"I heard Glînwë go past my chamber, so I thought I would come along and see how you thought your meeting went," he explained.

"You heard him?" Legolas asked suspiciously.

"Singing. You uncle Galathil's composition, I believe it was."

The golden head dropped onto the table. "Not the very…inappropriate…one about _ellyth_, written while drunk?" His muffled voice contained clear overtones of despair.

"I'm afraid so," Annúmír replied, a faint grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Legolas lifted his head. Annúmír noted with amusement that his friend's forehead now bore a very well-defined imprint of the scalloped edge of his table.

"What language?" Legolas asked hollowly.

"Westron, mostly, although it seems that Glînwë's grasp of that tongue fails him where less…frequently used words are concerned."

Another faint moan escaped Legolas' lips. "I had hoped that perhaps his choice of language would protect the more innocent maids who have not left the Forest and speak only Sindarin, but no…they shall be serenaded with a song that is completely incomprehensible save for apparently random rude words."

His head sank again to the table.

"I gather things went quite well, from his point of view?" Annúmír inquired, settling into the chair opposite his foster brother. Legolas sighed and reached for a small tart, which he began to dissect.

"Apparently he wasn't really angry with Lothiel, just worried. It seems he had a dream or vision that showed her in all kinds of trouble following her marriage to Thalion."

Annúmír made a strangled kind of sound, and Legolas glanced up at him.

"Oh, yes, that's right; you didn't know. Going back a little, it would appear that our friend Thalion has been in love with young Lothiel for some time, and they have recently come to an understanding."

"And he told us nothing!"

"No…quite possibly a side-effect of the Glînwë situation, which followed quite rapidly. He refused her his blessing and both of them became more than a little upset."

"What did you do?" Annúmír asked, curious.

"Extricated the entire tale from him and told him that he had better ignore it. I did not, however, tell him that his mother experienced something similar, or that as far as most people—including myself, although not Glînwë, apparently— are concerned, the theory of ignoring a terrifying vision is much simpler than the practice. After a brief bout of anger against the Valar he left in high spirits to be reunited with his sister, half under the impression that his vision was nothing more or less than a nightmare brought on by filial jealousy. I said nothing, but Annúmír—" he looked up from the mess of apple and pastry, and his face was serious. "If you had seen his face when he described it…it was as though the things had already happened. He was desperate, frantic with worry and horror—and yet these past weeks he has seemed as cheerful as always. And when I told him to ignore it, he seemed to be able at once to block the entire episode from his mind, rather than have to muse on and battle with it! Two thousand years ago it would have been a result very gratifying to my pride…"

"Two hundred years ago, when he refused to do anything we told him, it would have been a result very gratifying to our sanity," Annúmír added.

"But now it is merely _disturbing_!"

Annúmír looked thoughtful. "What you said just now, about him being as cheerful as always: perhaps that is the clue."

Tilting his head on one side as he had always done when Annúmír was explaining some point of mathematics or military drill, Legolas suddenly and forcibly reminded his foster brother of their childhood.

"What I mean is that he lives in the same place, under the same conditions as the rest of us, overshadowed by the same Darkness and yet, as you say, he is always cheerful."

"Which brings us back to what I was saying when you arrived. Life would be so much easier if we were all Silvan by ancestry as well as by habitat…as it is, I have lived among people of Nandorin descent for the best part of three thousand years and still find it impossible to comprehend them. Of course," he added, glancing up at the row of painted silhouettes that hung along one wall, "neither do I understand the Sindar, the Noldor, the Vanyar, or any combinations thereof!"

"Including yourself," Annúmír pointed out, standing. "Perhaps you should abandon us all as mysteries incomprehensible to all save the One and come to the Great Hall for dinner."

Legolas grinned. "Perhaps you are right.

* * *

The part where I make lots of excuses, otherwise known as the author's notes: 

I have a reason. I really, truly do. In fact, I have several. For starters, the fact that my computer spent a couple of months on the ocean wave and sitting in Rotterdam kinda led to posting difficulties, but admittedly I did get it back at the end of November. By then, however, I was part of the school musical, which involved lengthy rehearsals. After that there was Christmas, followed swiftly by a set of those nasty things they call A-levels: big, important, evilly difficult exams, to the uninitiated—and there's another set coming up frighteningly soon ) I have been writing sporadically, though-honestly. It's just that aborted emigration attempts don't seem to do anything for the muse, and she keeps going AWOL. Then there is the fact of Glînwë's repeated character, age and identity crises...at times I was about ready to hire Thorin to come up out of the cellars and take an axe to the blasted Elf, he caused so many re-writes, and he insists on these random mood-swings! They have nothing to do with _me_, and _I_ certainly didn't want the vision-y angst…I've come to the conclusion that his behaviour can only be explained by schizophrenia, although whether it is Glînwë who suffers from it, or me, I'm not quite sure ;)

You may have noticed (or not!) that during this story, I refer to the Valar both as the Valar and as the Belain. While Legolas and Co. would, when speaking among themselves, consistently have used Belain, the Sindarin version, I have used Valar when writing in English, as there is no real, accurate equivalent. Belain is only used when I have written the actual Sindarin context, since most people are less familiar with this term and it generally requires translation.

I've spotted a few odd things that this site, in its wisdom, decided to do with the formatting of this chapter (including removing its own name—odd.) There are probably more (if you see them, please tell me!) and I can tell you now that when I typed this, I did not want all those paragraphs :) But I'm just too _tired_ to fix it, and I'm going to get this up tonight if it's the last thing I do. Which it may well be.

Review Responses

Deana: Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked it and…sorry it's so late:)

Celeb and Tin: Yeah, okay, so hurting Elves can be fun ;) Oh, it was a compliment, completely! I love your reviews! Thank you for all your compliments. -Sends off a gift-wrapped Culedhel- See, the ribbons don't just look pretty, they stop him from squirming!

Sindarin Translations

_Neth ellon:_ young male Elf

_Ú-maenú:_ I believe I was trying to say something along the lines of "You idiot" but since it isn't a common phrase in Sindarin and my dictionary has gone absolutely bonkers and I currently have to pick the words out from a maze of coding, I can't verify the exact translation. Take it to mean something along those lines :)

_Elleth:_ Elven maiden

_Muindor: _brother

_Daro! Daro si:_ Stop! Stop now!

_Hröa:_ bodily form

_Gwador nín:_ my brother (With the sense of "brother by choice", rather than "brother by blood", as above

_Annabyn:_ Elephants/mûmakil

_Hannon le:_ Thank you

_Laer:_ summer; season approximately corresponding (at least in the calendar of Imladris) with our 31st May to 10th August


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